Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
The Reblog gets an identity. And the demo gets worked over.
For some time now I have pondered over something. I’ve mulled it over, cogitated on it, and have done my damnedest to rationalize it. But there’s really no getting around it: Blogging, it occurs to me, is really about as self-indulgent an undertaking that you could ask for. Really, think about it. Here I sit on my balcony, a glass of wine in front of me, a cigar protruding from the corner of my mouth (and surely sickening the inhabitants of the apartment of above me), unprepared to call it a night, and forcing you poor people to read yet another rant of mine. And here’s the really egomaniacal part: I’m fully assuming that you are doing just that. I have the audacity to believe – to be convinced of the fact – that you find my silly ramblings entertaining enough to follow. Egotistical, isn’t it?
And the worse part about it is that I’m going to re-Blog. Yup, you read me: re-Blog. I’ve hereby coined the term. And if I’m remembered for nothing else (likely nothing at all), then at least I’ll claim this.
So, a number of weeks back (a page-and-a-half, in “blog years”) I wrote about the importance – or lack thereof – of DJs creating demos. And, in being consistent with my nature, I used a lot of words to say a lot that amounted to nothing. Basically, the message was this: Do what makes you happy. Make a damned demo if you want. I don’t know that it’ll get you anywhere – because, sadly it’s all about who you know these days – but it sure as hell doesn’t hurt. And at the end of the day, you’ll at least have an hour and a half of tunes that you want to hear. And I guess that was really the point I wanted to make: Do it for you, if for no one else.
But I’m revisiting this previous musing for other reasons. I decided to come back to this because these days, in the Digital Age, you have the world at your fingertips. The idea of the Global Village – the idea of Marshall McLuhan’s that the Internet has created a culture that crosses all physical and geographical bounds – has been increasingly realized through social networking. Such sites as Myspace, Facebook, and Twitter have put us in touch with individuals in other countries, cultures, and hemispheres of whose influence we may never have had the privilege to encounter.
And this is really important!
The world is growing smaller, and for the better.
Here’s where this all ties in to the demo. It really isn’t just a demo. What it is, this thing you create, is a hallmark to what you love. What this recording can be is a voice, an identity, to you, the unnamed, unknown, unrecognized maestro of techno. And sure, it may just be an artfully mixed collection of other peoples’ music. But what are we, if not glorified, walking, beat-matching jukeboxes? Your voice comes from the fact that you obviously love what you’re doing. You took the time to sift through the countless tunes out there. You took the time to find the few that you found amazing. You then took the time to figure out how to best meld those pieces together to create a story line. Your story line! And tell me what this story line is, if not the most romantic, twisted, tormented, and yet joyful story line ever told? Because, have you not spent countless hours, closeted and sequestered in your bedroom, fighting the desperation, the discouragement, and the disappointment to figure out just how those damned beats are supposed to match up? This then, my friends, is truly a labor of love. This then, puts Pygmalion and all of his labors to shame. Because what he sought, his fruitless toil, was a love that would never speak back.
Yours does.
I was struck with the need to make another demo, another recording, a pooling of musics this evening when, on my Facebook, of all things, I realized that there were “friends” of mine there, friends in Panama that I had never, would have never met, unless they shared the same love. I realized that certain friend requests that I had received were because they had somehow, through the web of this Global Village, followed the threads and found their way to me. And, because we share nothing else in common, I can only believe that the music – always the music! – brought us together.
It speaks across national, ethnic, and religious boundaries. It is a language that is comprehensible to all. It’s universal, this electronic music, because no matter what country you find yourself in, no matter the native tongue, you can find yourself in a club dancing to the exact same tunes that you might be dancing around in your bedroom to back home. Clubs in China are playing it. Clubs in Argentina are playing it. Clubs in Germany, Damascus, Israel, Egypt, London, Russia, and Australia – they’re all playing it. What else do these people share in common, besides the basic building blocks of which we’re made? We’re children of the music, brought together to dance, gyrate, celebrate, and rejoice in this thing of ours. We find a family, our global family, in this electronic parent. It’s always teaching us, showing us that things can be better, helping us through the sick times, the sad times, the poor times, and the alone times. It’s what we turn to when things aren’t going well, and to celebrate when they are. It’s reliable, this music, because though it’s always changing and evolving, it’s always there for us.
And so I reblog. I say what I’ve said before, with some stress on some different ideas of what the demo means in the Digital Age. Because of the extensive reach of the internet, you never quite know who will hear your music – or what it’ll mean to them. Your audience could be a network that reaches across the oceans, is picked up by some kid needing something to listen to while doing homework, is downloaded by a woman at work needing a way to break the monotony, or is streamed by some unknown fan in the coffee shop that they’re working at in another continent, forcing all of the customers to enjoy what you have done, alone, in your bedroom.
The possibilities are endless; full of potential and unexplored applications. The internet is just there, waiting for some lucky, creative individual, such as yourself, to put it to use in ways that nobody has yet used it. Go forth, mix your music, and share it with the masses!
And the worse part about it is that I’m going to re-Blog. Yup, you read me: re-Blog. I’ve hereby coined the term. And if I’m remembered for nothing else (likely nothing at all), then at least I’ll claim this.
So, a number of weeks back (a page-and-a-half, in “blog years”) I wrote about the importance – or lack thereof – of DJs creating demos. And, in being consistent with my nature, I used a lot of words to say a lot that amounted to nothing. Basically, the message was this: Do what makes you happy. Make a damned demo if you want. I don’t know that it’ll get you anywhere – because, sadly it’s all about who you know these days – but it sure as hell doesn’t hurt. And at the end of the day, you’ll at least have an hour and a half of tunes that you want to hear. And I guess that was really the point I wanted to make: Do it for you, if for no one else.
But I’m revisiting this previous musing for other reasons. I decided to come back to this because these days, in the Digital Age, you have the world at your fingertips. The idea of the Global Village – the idea of Marshall McLuhan’s that the Internet has created a culture that crosses all physical and geographical bounds – has been increasingly realized through social networking. Such sites as Myspace, Facebook, and Twitter have put us in touch with individuals in other countries, cultures, and hemispheres of whose influence we may never have had the privilege to encounter.
And this is really important!
The world is growing smaller, and for the better.
Here’s where this all ties in to the demo. It really isn’t just a demo. What it is, this thing you create, is a hallmark to what you love. What this recording can be is a voice, an identity, to you, the unnamed, unknown, unrecognized maestro of techno. And sure, it may just be an artfully mixed collection of other peoples’ music. But what are we, if not glorified, walking, beat-matching jukeboxes? Your voice comes from the fact that you obviously love what you’re doing. You took the time to sift through the countless tunes out there. You took the time to find the few that you found amazing. You then took the time to figure out how to best meld those pieces together to create a story line. Your story line! And tell me what this story line is, if not the most romantic, twisted, tormented, and yet joyful story line ever told? Because, have you not spent countless hours, closeted and sequestered in your bedroom, fighting the desperation, the discouragement, and the disappointment to figure out just how those damned beats are supposed to match up? This then, my friends, is truly a labor of love. This then, puts Pygmalion and all of his labors to shame. Because what he sought, his fruitless toil, was a love that would never speak back.
Yours does.
I was struck with the need to make another demo, another recording, a pooling of musics this evening when, on my Facebook, of all things, I realized that there were “friends” of mine there, friends in Panama that I had never, would have never met, unless they shared the same love. I realized that certain friend requests that I had received were because they had somehow, through the web of this Global Village, followed the threads and found their way to me. And, because we share nothing else in common, I can only believe that the music – always the music! – brought us together.
It speaks across national, ethnic, and religious boundaries. It is a language that is comprehensible to all. It’s universal, this electronic music, because no matter what country you find yourself in, no matter the native tongue, you can find yourself in a club dancing to the exact same tunes that you might be dancing around in your bedroom to back home. Clubs in China are playing it. Clubs in Argentina are playing it. Clubs in Germany, Damascus, Israel, Egypt, London, Russia, and Australia – they’re all playing it. What else do these people share in common, besides the basic building blocks of which we’re made? We’re children of the music, brought together to dance, gyrate, celebrate, and rejoice in this thing of ours. We find a family, our global family, in this electronic parent. It’s always teaching us, showing us that things can be better, helping us through the sick times, the sad times, the poor times, and the alone times. It’s what we turn to when things aren’t going well, and to celebrate when they are. It’s reliable, this music, because though it’s always changing and evolving, it’s always there for us.
And so I reblog. I say what I’ve said before, with some stress on some different ideas of what the demo means in the Digital Age. Because of the extensive reach of the internet, you never quite know who will hear your music – or what it’ll mean to them. Your audience could be a network that reaches across the oceans, is picked up by some kid needing something to listen to while doing homework, is downloaded by a woman at work needing a way to break the monotony, or is streamed by some unknown fan in the coffee shop that they’re working at in another continent, forcing all of the customers to enjoy what you have done, alone, in your bedroom.
The possibilities are endless; full of potential and unexplored applications. The internet is just there, waiting for some lucky, creative individual, such as yourself, to put it to use in ways that nobody has yet used it. Go forth, mix your music, and share it with the masses!
Monday, July 13, 2009
This year's Fire line-up just keeps getting more massive...
For more information and downloadable DJ mixes, head to http://pdxfireproductions.com/
Monday, July 6, 2009
Don't kill your radio...
Often, the necessity of a certain type of music in the clubs causes others to be overlooked, sidestepped, and left along the way. There is such a great deal of music out there that is of excellent quality, thoughtfully produced, forward-thinking, boundary-pushing, and wholly unique. So why is all of this quality stuff going unplayed? Sadly, much of it is of the deeper persuasion; introspective and too sophisticated to qualify as a dead-on dance floor tool. I've noticed -- sometimes discovered the hard way -- that sometimes the music that gets people dancing, at least "the masses," is often very simply of the "in-your-face" variety. The tracks that people often dance to most are the ones that they know, that they recognize from the radio, and that they can sing along too (the girls, at least). They just need a moving rhythm, and bassline that shakes the spaces between their bones, and some melody to raise their hands in the air to.
And the other stuff just sits in your record box, unplayed, unheard, and unappreciated.
So what's the solution? Protonradio.com. Friskyradio.com. Internet radio, in general, is the salvation for the music that might not otherwise see the light of day; the music too good to be played in the clubs, too smart to grow outside of a small niche, too damned intelligent for most of the Mcdonald's-consuming American population. We are, after all, a country that wants to only consume what others are consuming, to conform, and to follow the accepted template of what's "good." Why else could Starbucks intentionally burn their beans, to create a flavor that would be recognizable across the board, and have it be considered the model of what coffee should be? Ever wonder why the music eschewing from your radio all sounds strangely similar? There's a damned good reason.
So turn to the internet, my friends! Turn to a broadcast that is not commercially supported, that is able to make available a form of music that isn't massly consumed. Your friendly internet radio broadcast can save your work day, a relaxed gathering of friends, or an evening at home. It can save the producers smart enough, creative enough, and brave enough to step out of the commercial bonds and flex their underground muscle.
Tune in and enjoy.
And the other stuff just sits in your record box, unplayed, unheard, and unappreciated.
So what's the solution? Protonradio.com. Friskyradio.com. Internet radio, in general, is the salvation for the music that might not otherwise see the light of day; the music too good to be played in the clubs, too smart to grow outside of a small niche, too damned intelligent for most of the Mcdonald's-consuming American population. We are, after all, a country that wants to only consume what others are consuming, to conform, and to follow the accepted template of what's "good." Why else could Starbucks intentionally burn their beans, to create a flavor that would be recognizable across the board, and have it be considered the model of what coffee should be? Ever wonder why the music eschewing from your radio all sounds strangely similar? There's a damned good reason.
So turn to the internet, my friends! Turn to a broadcast that is not commercially supported, that is able to make available a form of music that isn't massly consumed. Your friendly internet radio broadcast can save your work day, a relaxed gathering of friends, or an evening at home. It can save the producers smart enough, creative enough, and brave enough to step out of the commercial bonds and flex their underground muscle.
Tune in and enjoy.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Reading me is like banging your head against the wall.
- Written on my flight back to Portland yesterday (6/29/09) -
I did it. At the time, I don’t know what else I could have done. I said goodbye to my dad this morning (for the last time?) and boarded a flight back to Portland. I left the man lying there, his future uncertain, and walked away, leaving a larger piece of my heart behind me with every step. I could feel the evidence of this as it almost got easier, the farther away from him that I got, like there was progressively, exponentially, less of it there to feel that raw, tearing pain. And now? Now it’s a vacuum. there is a dull ache that exists there in that space, but its an ache that’s akin to that “phantom” pain of which you hear amputees so often speak.
It’s ridiculous. I feel like a 12 year-old girl, pining over her lost “lover” – that popular kid who ditched her for her best friend because she was an easier lay. People lose loved ones all of the time – and I haven’t even yet lost anyone – but here I am, forcing you poor people to read my “woe-as-me” writings, wallowing like there’s no hope in the world.
I don’t really feel that way, like some poor sap, wallowing in his misery. But like I stated in a previous post, when I hurt, I hurt. I embrace the pain, talk about it, share it, and write about it. And I might drink a lot. Because that’s how I best deal with it. And what is a blog, if not a journal of sorts – albeit a publicly accessible one? So here it is, people, my whining, pining, and crying, shamelessly (shamefully?) displayed here for you to either peruse and possibly even get something out of, or to just be skipped over to see what the stalker-feeds are saying on Facebook.
It’s funny, though, what acute pain can do for my appreciation of all that is good in life. For instance, no matter what the outcome with my father, to be completely honest, I am thankful – giddy even – to have had this man a part of my life. Certainly, we’ve had some troubles (like two stubborn rams, repeatedly butting each other in the head, as rams are wont to do). But that’s what happens when parents do their job. They aren’t always the good guy. They aren’t always fun. And if they are either, then they’re likely to one day inform you – in front of a live studio audience – that they’ve been sleeping with your lover. Ain’t daytime television grand?
At the times of the worst pain in my life, the little things come into focus. Usually, these are the obvious (but not any less important for being so) things, like a roof over my head, a meal in my belly, or even the heat running on a cold winter night. I pass enough bodies huddled in a doorway on my walk to work in the morning to appreciate the validity of this. And quite often, at the forefront of such thoughts, are my parents. How else would I have made the steps in my life that have allowed me to afford such amenities on my own? Who else would have supported the decisions that I’ve made that haven’t been obvious and glaring fuck-ups? And, who else would have, at times, allowed me to make those more knuckleheaded decisions in hopes that this notoriously hard head of mine might actually absorb some sort of lesson – and then be there for me to help me to put the pieces back together.
When I tell you, any of you that continue to read my self-indulgent rantings (likely, you have nothing better to do, or you’re punishing yourself for some unnamed crime), that I am thankful – grateful to the depths of my core – of the options that have been made available to me, of the small comforts that I enjoy, and of those in my life that I call family and friends, you bet yer ass that I mean it.
I did it. At the time, I don’t know what else I could have done. I said goodbye to my dad this morning (for the last time?) and boarded a flight back to Portland. I left the man lying there, his future uncertain, and walked away, leaving a larger piece of my heart behind me with every step. I could feel the evidence of this as it almost got easier, the farther away from him that I got, like there was progressively, exponentially, less of it there to feel that raw, tearing pain. And now? Now it’s a vacuum. there is a dull ache that exists there in that space, but its an ache that’s akin to that “phantom” pain of which you hear amputees so often speak.
It’s ridiculous. I feel like a 12 year-old girl, pining over her lost “lover” – that popular kid who ditched her for her best friend because she was an easier lay. People lose loved ones all of the time – and I haven’t even yet lost anyone – but here I am, forcing you poor people to read my “woe-as-me” writings, wallowing like there’s no hope in the world.
I don’t really feel that way, like some poor sap, wallowing in his misery. But like I stated in a previous post, when I hurt, I hurt. I embrace the pain, talk about it, share it, and write about it. And I might drink a lot. Because that’s how I best deal with it. And what is a blog, if not a journal of sorts – albeit a publicly accessible one? So here it is, people, my whining, pining, and crying, shamelessly (shamefully?) displayed here for you to either peruse and possibly even get something out of, or to just be skipped over to see what the stalker-feeds are saying on Facebook.
It’s funny, though, what acute pain can do for my appreciation of all that is good in life. For instance, no matter what the outcome with my father, to be completely honest, I am thankful – giddy even – to have had this man a part of my life. Certainly, we’ve had some troubles (like two stubborn rams, repeatedly butting each other in the head, as rams are wont to do). But that’s what happens when parents do their job. They aren’t always the good guy. They aren’t always fun. And if they are either, then they’re likely to one day inform you – in front of a live studio audience – that they’ve been sleeping with your lover. Ain’t daytime television grand?
At the times of the worst pain in my life, the little things come into focus. Usually, these are the obvious (but not any less important for being so) things, like a roof over my head, a meal in my belly, or even the heat running on a cold winter night. I pass enough bodies huddled in a doorway on my walk to work in the morning to appreciate the validity of this. And quite often, at the forefront of such thoughts, are my parents. How else would I have made the steps in my life that have allowed me to afford such amenities on my own? Who else would have supported the decisions that I’ve made that haven’t been obvious and glaring fuck-ups? And, who else would have, at times, allowed me to make those more knuckleheaded decisions in hopes that this notoriously hard head of mine might actually absorb some sort of lesson – and then be there for me to help me to put the pieces back together.
When I tell you, any of you that continue to read my self-indulgent rantings (likely, you have nothing better to do, or you’re punishing yourself for some unnamed crime), that I am thankful – grateful to the depths of my core – of the options that have been made available to me, of the small comforts that I enjoy, and of those in my life that I call family and friends, you bet yer ass that I mean it.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Should I Stay, or Should I Go?
6/28/09 - 2:00 a.m.
I said that I was lost once. I seem to have found my way deeper into the woods, no compass at hand, and the light of day dying quickly. Strangely, though things aren’t necessarily worse for my dad, his continuing, non-changing state has brought me to a crossroads. The old man has forced a decision upon me. And it very well may be the hardest, most weighted, and potentially scarring decision of my life.
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