Guess what?! It turns out I totally have a blog! Crazy, right? I know! It's like when someone tries to bum a cigarette and you're all like "I don't smoke", and then you get home and empty your pockets and suddenly remember that you've had a carton-a-week habit for decades as you pull out a pack of Camels, open it, lovingly caress your last one and light it. "Thank God I didn't give this one to that mooch," you think as you inhale deeply, adjusting the wig that hides the toll that months of radiation therapy have taken on your fragile frame. Just like that!
I mean, instead of ranting futilely into the void, I could have been ranting productively on the interwebs. Colour me embarrassed.
So much has happened:
I went back to Istanbul. Second time there. I love that city. Have you been? I don't know - you don't have a blog. It's a crazy exciting metropolis with millennia of history and culture and amazing food. Go.
Japan is up next. Woo hoo!
Closer to home, last week a corrupt Spanish politician was gunned down in the street by the mother of some girl she'd fucked over. Right now, the Spanish police could be kicking in my door to arrest me for suggesting that maybe some awful lady who scams over a hundred and fifty grand a year from the public coffers while faking eligibility for free trips to NYC and bullying the opposition and the press deserves to eat a lead sandwich with the works. (They're making it illegal, you know) If only I'd been paying attention to my bookmarks.
Eurovision! The fun I could have had with Eurovision. Buxom slavs and bearded ladies. Oh well. Next year.
In the meantime, I have a band too. That one is easier to remember. We recorded and played a couple of shows and I keep paying for rehearsal time, so it's harder to ignore. We've been accepted as semi-finalists in a radio contest. I'm not sure what we can win (apparently not too hard to ignore) but it's probably something cool like hats or beer, so I would really appreciate it if you would click on the link and vote for us. Just tick the box at the bottom of the page and click Enviar. Thanks.
My annual rock orgy takes place next week as I spend three days in the ugliest part of the city taking in the sweet noise of Primavera Sound. (With JB. Woo hoo!) I'll tell you all about it if it doesn't slip my mind.
VOTE FOR LES FAT JONES HERE!
It's like running through the streets and shouting...
Showing posts with label assholes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label assholes. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Thursday, October 17, 2013
The Manitoban Candidate
Thank you America! I live in a country where it is common knowledge that the president accepted under the table payments of embezzled party funds, but you guys have made this banana republic seem like a functioning first world democracy.
Watching a small band of lunatics hold the country hostage in a failed attempt to deny the poorest amongst you cheaper healthcare has been a surreal experience, and this from the vantage point of a place where the king's own daughter was a front for shady land deals.
Watching the laughable debacle known as the Tea Party squirm around like a senile old uncle with shit in his pants sitting at Thanksgiving dinner and complaining about the smell has led me to one conclusion: beware of Ted Cruz! Now, my liberal friends, I see you smugly shaking your heads and saying "yeah, thanks, we know" but actually I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to you conservative dupes: Ted Cruz is obviously a Canadian spy. Crazy like a fox Teddy boy has obviously been sent across the border to infiltrate and undermine the Republican party. How else do you explain the actions of a guy who acts like dragging the party's popularity into the sewer is some sort of grand victory, and who, on his first day back at work, continues to act like a spoilt child by holding up a government nomination over a moot law. This is the work of a master agent provocateur. He will not stop until the Republican party has been decimated and communism rules the land. And you idiots want to run him for president.
Watching a small band of lunatics hold the country hostage in a failed attempt to deny the poorest amongst you cheaper healthcare has been a surreal experience, and this from the vantage point of a place where the king's own daughter was a front for shady land deals.
Watching the laughable debacle known as the Tea Party squirm around like a senile old uncle with shit in his pants sitting at Thanksgiving dinner and complaining about the smell has led me to one conclusion: beware of Ted Cruz! Now, my liberal friends, I see you smugly shaking your heads and saying "yeah, thanks, we know" but actually I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to you conservative dupes: Ted Cruz is obviously a Canadian spy. Crazy like a fox Teddy boy has obviously been sent across the border to infiltrate and undermine the Republican party. How else do you explain the actions of a guy who acts like dragging the party's popularity into the sewer is some sort of grand victory, and who, on his first day back at work, continues to act like a spoilt child by holding up a government nomination over a moot law. This is the work of a master agent provocateur. He will not stop until the Republican party has been decimated and communism rules the land. And you idiots want to run him for president.
Thursday, February 7, 2013
The Sentence of the Year
It's only February and I'm convinced we have a clear winner for the best collection of words assembled in 2013. It will be hard to top.
"It's all untrue, except for some things."
This, courtesy of our fearless leader, Mariano Rajoy. The Spanish president was responding (finally) to questions about the financing scandal that has rocked his party, where the treasurer embezzled millions of euros and used them, among other things, to pay under-the-table bonuses to party hacks, including the president. Now we know for sure that none of it happened, except for some of it.
With this genius bit of linguistics, he also accomplished something I never believed possible. He made me feel sorry for Angela Merkel. The German chancellor has been riding over the european economy like the general of a Panzer division, forcing poorer countries to swallow society-choking cuts to their social nets so that the euro remains viable enough to justify producing Mercedes SUV's. She is the least sympathetic German since GODWIN'S LAW ALERT. Yet, I could not help but pity her as she stood on the podium next to Rajoy as he uttered the bestest defence/denial ever. Knowing she would appear in all the photos accompanying the quote, she must have thought "What the fuck am I doing with this clown? Get me the fuck outta here. Schnell!"
"It's all untrue, except for some things."
This, courtesy of our fearless leader, Mariano Rajoy. The Spanish president was responding (finally) to questions about the financing scandal that has rocked his party, where the treasurer embezzled millions of euros and used them, among other things, to pay under-the-table bonuses to party hacks, including the president. Now we know for sure that none of it happened, except for some of it.
With this genius bit of linguistics, he also accomplished something I never believed possible. He made me feel sorry for Angela Merkel. The German chancellor has been riding over the european economy like the general of a Panzer division, forcing poorer countries to swallow society-choking cuts to their social nets so that the euro remains viable enough to justify producing Mercedes SUV's. She is the least sympathetic German since GODWIN'S LAW ALERT. Yet, I could not help but pity her as she stood on the podium next to Rajoy as he uttered the bestest defence/denial ever. Knowing she would appear in all the photos accompanying the quote, she must have thought "What the fuck am I doing with this clown? Get me the fuck outta here. Schnell!"
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
The Whatever Case Situation
"A lo mejor..." said Joan and stopped, looking at me inquisitively.
"How do you say that?" he asked. (Joan is a man's name, the Catalan version of Juan.)
It translates literally as "at best" but that's not what it means. These instances are called false friends, where two seemingly identical words or expressions mean different things in different languages. My favourite is constipado which means congested, resulting in a ridiculous number of times every winter that my students inform me with bleary eyes about their terrible constipation. A lo mejor simply means maybe. I figured this out years ago when a roommate once answered a question of mine with "A lo mejor si, a lo mejor no," giving me no clue as to which was actually the preferred outcome.
I gave my students the explanation and the story of my discovery of it. Anna thought it was hilarious, saying it showed cultural differences, with the Spanish unwilling to commit to an actual statement. This echoes something that the language and culture geek in me has been fascinated by since my arrival. What do linguistic choices say about the culture that made them? When like and love are the same word in French, and want and love are the same word in Spanish, does this reflect their view of what love actually is?
Perhaps (a lo mejor) the most extreme example of this is the Spanish use of impersonal verb forms. Se ha roto means it broke itself. You never break anything. If you want to admit your involvement in the events that led to the item in question's current state, you say Se me ha roto, or It broke itself to me, making you the victim of the item's nefarious breakage agenda. Likewise, should gravity snatch it from your noble paws, Se me ha caido. (It fell itself to me.) Never do you drop anything.
Sure, in English, it fell or it broke absolve you of the blame, but Se me ha olvidado? It forgot itself to me. I think when you report this situation as a memory escaping from your brain of its own volition, we can safely say that the Spanish have removed all notions of personal responsibility from the language.
This goes a long way to explaining the politics of this country. They are not necessarily more corrupt than other countries where those in power continually game the system to their own advantage, but consequences here are different. SPOILER ALERT: there are none.
This week's outrage is courtesy of the ruling right wing Popular Party (PP). It was revealed that the former treasurer, forced out due to a previous corruption investigation, had squirrelled away 22 million euros in a Swiss bank account. Maybe (a lo mejor) I'm being idealistic, but I think that in other Western democracies (with the likely exception of Italy) when the guy in charge of the country's money is found to be taking that money for himself, hiding it with the keepers of Nazi gold and using it for illegal payoffs to his own party members and South American politicians for land acquisition deals, that government would be out of power by the end of the week. Here, the government sent threatening messages to the TV station reporting it and promised an internal audit. My math skills are weak, and my accounting knowledge nil, but I'm pretty sure that money circulating under the table won't show up in the ledgers being audited, since the money was UNDER THE TABLE in the first place. However, the PP seems to feel it has done enough to address the situation and got back to the important business of running the country by introducing a law that says being a convicted felon is not a legal impediment to running a bank.
Spain has a national inferiority complex vis-a-vis the western world (mostly due to the racist shame of having been ruled by Arabs for centuries) and when their institutions act this way, I want to pat them on the head and give them an E for effort.
They might (a lo mejor) want to look into it.
"How do you say that?" he asked. (Joan is a man's name, the Catalan version of Juan.)
It translates literally as "at best" but that's not what it means. These instances are called false friends, where two seemingly identical words or expressions mean different things in different languages. My favourite is constipado which means congested, resulting in a ridiculous number of times every winter that my students inform me with bleary eyes about their terrible constipation. A lo mejor simply means maybe. I figured this out years ago when a roommate once answered a question of mine with "A lo mejor si, a lo mejor no," giving me no clue as to which was actually the preferred outcome.
I gave my students the explanation and the story of my discovery of it. Anna thought it was hilarious, saying it showed cultural differences, with the Spanish unwilling to commit to an actual statement. This echoes something that the language and culture geek in me has been fascinated by since my arrival. What do linguistic choices say about the culture that made them? When like and love are the same word in French, and want and love are the same word in Spanish, does this reflect their view of what love actually is?
Perhaps (a lo mejor) the most extreme example of this is the Spanish use of impersonal verb forms. Se ha roto means it broke itself. You never break anything. If you want to admit your involvement in the events that led to the item in question's current state, you say Se me ha roto, or It broke itself to me, making you the victim of the item's nefarious breakage agenda. Likewise, should gravity snatch it from your noble paws, Se me ha caido. (It fell itself to me.) Never do you drop anything.
Sure, in English, it fell or it broke absolve you of the blame, but Se me ha olvidado? It forgot itself to me. I think when you report this situation as a memory escaping from your brain of its own volition, we can safely say that the Spanish have removed all notions of personal responsibility from the language.
This goes a long way to explaining the politics of this country. They are not necessarily more corrupt than other countries where those in power continually game the system to their own advantage, but consequences here are different. SPOILER ALERT: there are none.
This week's outrage is courtesy of the ruling right wing Popular Party (PP). It was revealed that the former treasurer, forced out due to a previous corruption investigation, had squirrelled away 22 million euros in a Swiss bank account. Maybe (a lo mejor) I'm being idealistic, but I think that in other Western democracies (with the likely exception of Italy) when the guy in charge of the country's money is found to be taking that money for himself, hiding it with the keepers of Nazi gold and using it for illegal payoffs to his own party members and South American politicians for land acquisition deals, that government would be out of power by the end of the week. Here, the government sent threatening messages to the TV station reporting it and promised an internal audit. My math skills are weak, and my accounting knowledge nil, but I'm pretty sure that money circulating under the table won't show up in the ledgers being audited, since the money was UNDER THE TABLE in the first place. However, the PP seems to feel it has done enough to address the situation and got back to the important business of running the country by introducing a law that says being a convicted felon is not a legal impediment to running a bank.
Spain has a national inferiority complex vis-a-vis the western world (mostly due to the racist shame of having been ruled by Arabs for centuries) and when their institutions act this way, I want to pat them on the head and give them an E for effort.
They might (a lo mejor) want to look into it.
Friday, December 7, 2012
Iberianism
Spain doesn't get capitalism. I don't know what existed here before, but clearly capitalism was imposed on the peninsula by outside historical forces, and the natives went "Ok", but just. They adapted to the system to the bare minimum so that they could get X-boxes, and left it at that. As a person with serious problems with capitalism (the inherent exploitation that comes with assigning worth based solely on monetary value), I find it brave and beautiful. However, as a person who buys shit and does stuff, I find it really fucking frustrating. The thing with capitalism is it's really convenient, and the thing with Barcelona is it's really not. Is there another country in the west that shuts down almost completely at lunchtime? For THREE HOURS? EVERY DAY? Does anywhere else consider it good business practice to close up on Saturday at noon and not reopen until Monday morning? Seriously, is there a populace less interested in selling you the crap they have in their stores, even when they work in, or actually own those stores? Undoubtedly a great attitude for one's personal work-life balance. A demonstrably shitty attitude for one's national economy. The examples I could cite are myriad, but I'll just go with the latest.
Yesterday was a holiday celebrating some Spanish or Catholic event. It's one of those. Tomorrow is a holiday celebrating the other. I took advantage of my free time to attend a workshop on Christmas cocktails, since nothing says Yuletide like drinking. (Nothing says Friday, or Saturday, or Wednesday when work is almost finished like drinking either, but that's for another tale/confession. "Hi. I'm Noah and...") An energetic guy dressed like the trombone player from a ska band cheerfully led us through some of the worst concoctions you could imagine. (Egg nog with nougat blended in? Champagne with all the lemons? Yum?) He was personable and funny, and despite his awful taste in mixology, apparently knowledgable about distilling and infusing various alcohols. In a rare display of marketing and promotion, he repeatedly mentioned the two businesses he runs/is affiliated with. One is a shop of international food that charges you two euros for Dr Pepper cuz it's exotic, and the other is a bar that, the previous night, had told my friends and I that we had to wait outside because the waitress was busy reading at the bar and didn't feel like serving us, under the pretext that it was a city ordinance. So despite his best efforts, he will not sell me anything in the future. He probably doesn't really give a fuck.
I know I shouldn't complain, because the joy of the lifestyle here is largely based on people's ability to not give a fuck. (Also weather and beach. You could not give a fuck in Edmonton, and it would still be Edmonton.)
I leave you with this email sent to me by my brother after trying unsuccessfully to by a computer on Wednesday. Imagine it in Catalan and it's practically a documentary.
Yesterday was a holiday celebrating some Spanish or Catholic event. It's one of those. Tomorrow is a holiday celebrating the other. I took advantage of my free time to attend a workshop on Christmas cocktails, since nothing says Yuletide like drinking. (Nothing says Friday, or Saturday, or Wednesday when work is almost finished like drinking either, but that's for another tale/confession. "Hi. I'm Noah and...") An energetic guy dressed like the trombone player from a ska band cheerfully led us through some of the worst concoctions you could imagine. (Egg nog with nougat blended in? Champagne with all the lemons? Yum?) He was personable and funny, and despite his awful taste in mixology, apparently knowledgable about distilling and infusing various alcohols. In a rare display of marketing and promotion, he repeatedly mentioned the two businesses he runs/is affiliated with. One is a shop of international food that charges you two euros for Dr Pepper cuz it's exotic, and the other is a bar that, the previous night, had told my friends and I that we had to wait outside because the waitress was busy reading at the bar and didn't feel like serving us, under the pretext that it was a city ordinance. So despite his best efforts, he will not sell me anything in the future. He probably doesn't really give a fuck.
I know I shouldn't complain, because the joy of the lifestyle here is largely based on people's ability to not give a fuck. (Also weather and beach. You could not give a fuck in Edmonton, and it would still be Edmonton.)
I leave you with this email sent to me by my brother after trying unsuccessfully to by a computer on Wednesday. Imagine it in Catalan and it's practically a documentary.
CUSTOMER
Hello, merchant, I would like to purchase one of your fine goods at the advertised price.
MERCHANT
I am sorry, for arbitrary reasons that will seem absurd to any person not affiliated with this establishment, that is not possible.
CUSTOMER
I am in possession of several forms of currency.
MERCHANT shrugs.
FIN
Hello, merchant, I would like to purchase one of your fine goods at the advertised price.
MERCHANT
I am sorry, for arbitrary reasons that will seem absurd to any person not affiliated with this establishment, that is not possible.
CUSTOMER
I am in possession of several forms of currency.
MERCHANT shrugs.
FIN
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Perfecting Democracy
I'm taking a moment between all the rock and roll to discuss something a little more trivial: politics. (Hilarious! Nobody in 2012 has ever made light of politics. Where do I pick up my Nobel Prize for jokes?) I followed the American presidential elections with a mix of hope and disgust. Not all the disgust was levelled at Romney, btw. Obama has been a disappointment on so many levels, from financial reform to human rights, that he only deserved to lose less than the Republicans. But after the rape comments (really guys?) and the blatant soullessness of the GOP, I woke up relieved to find out he'd won a second term. Now I can go back to criticising him.
It's election time here in Catalunya, with people going to the polls on Sunday. At the heart of the campaign is a separatist movement that has long smouldered in the region and has burst into flames with the crisis and the conservative government running Spain. I'm mildly against Catalan independence, in that it seems many here view it as a panacea to cure all our ills. This disregards the fact that an independent Catalunya would not be the socialist utopia of these hippies' dreams, but another ineptly mismanaged free-market economy circling the drain of Europe. Take the current president, and leader of the separatist charge: Artur Mas. An opportunistic right-wing hack who only discovered his separatist passion in September when a million and a half people marched through Barcelona in support of the cause, his prior accomplishment was pushing for the creation of Eurovegas. This giant gambling complex helmed by Sheldon Addison (of Sarah Silverman fame) was to be a tourist trap that disregarded labour and environmental laws with the blessing of local government. It was such a terrible idea that I was sure it would happen. That Mas failed to secure the deal, losing out to Madrid, provided the minor relief of knowing that he is too incompetent to be sufficiently corrupt. And this man wants to lead Europe's newest nation.
He is not alone, nor even the worst. Spain has either completely misunderstood or brilliantly perfected democracy. One votes for a despot who then proceeds to act out at will while the populace grumble but take no action. Sure, that happens everywhere, but here they don't even bother to hide it. This month, the mayor of Madrid took off to a spa in Portugal the day after a tragedy at a stadium left several young people dead. Imagine Bloomberg, or even Giuliani, doing that. A politician in Valencia has won the lottery multiple times. Buying winning lottery tickets is a common money laundering trick, but he just claims to be improbably lucky, and nobody investigates. His daughter, a congresswoman for the ruling People's Party (a strange name for a right-wing group, but oh well) was filmed literally saying "Fuck them" about those most effected by recent budget cuts. (read: the poor.) These people put Blagojevich to shame. And let's talk about the plastic surgery. So much plastic surgery. The Mayor of Marbella was arrested at her home, with bags of money in her freezer, while recovering from plastic surgery. There are more duck lips and fake tits in parliament than at the AVN awards.
This is the PP (ie pro-Madrid) candidate vying to lead Catalunya. How many levels of artifice are there when you photoshop over the collagen lips to try to make her seem more human? (Two. There are two levels. Surgery and Photoshop. I should also get the Nobel Prize for counting.)
Anyway, it seems as if the ruling party will not achieve an absolute majority and thus nothing will change. At least it's provided a few weeks of distraction from skyrocketing unemployment and crumbling currency.
Well, I'm off to see Bat for Lashes tonight, so tomorrow I will bring you something of substance. (Zing, politics! Zing!)
It's election time here in Catalunya, with people going to the polls on Sunday. At the heart of the campaign is a separatist movement that has long smouldered in the region and has burst into flames with the crisis and the conservative government running Spain. I'm mildly against Catalan independence, in that it seems many here view it as a panacea to cure all our ills. This disregards the fact that an independent Catalunya would not be the socialist utopia of these hippies' dreams, but another ineptly mismanaged free-market economy circling the drain of Europe. Take the current president, and leader of the separatist charge: Artur Mas. An opportunistic right-wing hack who only discovered his separatist passion in September when a million and a half people marched through Barcelona in support of the cause, his prior accomplishment was pushing for the creation of Eurovegas. This giant gambling complex helmed by Sheldon Addison (of Sarah Silverman fame) was to be a tourist trap that disregarded labour and environmental laws with the blessing of local government. It was such a terrible idea that I was sure it would happen. That Mas failed to secure the deal, losing out to Madrid, provided the minor relief of knowing that he is too incompetent to be sufficiently corrupt. And this man wants to lead Europe's newest nation.
He is not alone, nor even the worst. Spain has either completely misunderstood or brilliantly perfected democracy. One votes for a despot who then proceeds to act out at will while the populace grumble but take no action. Sure, that happens everywhere, but here they don't even bother to hide it. This month, the mayor of Madrid took off to a spa in Portugal the day after a tragedy at a stadium left several young people dead. Imagine Bloomberg, or even Giuliani, doing that. A politician in Valencia has won the lottery multiple times. Buying winning lottery tickets is a common money laundering trick, but he just claims to be improbably lucky, and nobody investigates. His daughter, a congresswoman for the ruling People's Party (a strange name for a right-wing group, but oh well) was filmed literally saying "Fuck them" about those most effected by recent budget cuts. (read: the poor.) These people put Blagojevich to shame. And let's talk about the plastic surgery. So much plastic surgery. The Mayor of Marbella was arrested at her home, with bags of money in her freezer, while recovering from plastic surgery. There are more duck lips and fake tits in parliament than at the AVN awards.
This is the PP (ie pro-Madrid) candidate vying to lead Catalunya. How many levels of artifice are there when you photoshop over the collagen lips to try to make her seem more human? (Two. There are two levels. Surgery and Photoshop. I should also get the Nobel Prize for counting.)
Anyway, it seems as if the ruling party will not achieve an absolute majority and thus nothing will change. At least it's provided a few weeks of distraction from skyrocketing unemployment and crumbling currency.
Well, I'm off to see Bat for Lashes tonight, so tomorrow I will bring you something of substance. (Zing, politics! Zing!)
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Long Weekend!
There was an impressive storm in Barcelona last night. As I watched the lightning flash through my window, I remembered that David Blaine did that thing in New York this week. You know, with the electricity. He stood in a something something a million volts (watts?) something days. Google it. Does anybody even care about this guy? I was going to say anymore, but did anybody ever care? I mean, he was kind of cool when he wandered around the streets doing card tricks, but his daredevil shit? He sat somewhere once for a while, he stood somewhere once for a bit. Has the whole profession really devolved from the insane spectacle of Evel Knievel to the winner of Celebrity Survivor: Boringest Challenge? (Survivor jokes in 2012. #current #relevant #keepingupwiththekids)
It's a long weekend here. Tomorrow is national Spanish day. Living in a secessionist region dampens the festivities somewhat, as does the general state of the country. The Red Cross held an annual drive yesterday that in past years has gone to help Haiti, but this year is being channeled to the 2 million citizens here with no income. Being sat next to the third-world earthquake-ravaged orphans is not helping anybody's mood. But whatever, man. Day off! I'll be out of town, hoping to sneak in another beach day before winter (or the Spanish equivalent thereof) arrives.
Great news for Les Fat Jones. I can't tell you yet, but some awesomeness in the near future was confirmed today. Watch this space.
It's a long weekend here. Tomorrow is national Spanish day. Living in a secessionist region dampens the festivities somewhat, as does the general state of the country. The Red Cross held an annual drive yesterday that in past years has gone to help Haiti, but this year is being channeled to the 2 million citizens here with no income. Being sat next to the third-world earthquake-ravaged orphans is not helping anybody's mood. But whatever, man. Day off! I'll be out of town, hoping to sneak in another beach day before winter (or the Spanish equivalent thereof) arrives.
Great news for Les Fat Jones. I can't tell you yet, but some awesomeness in the near future was confirmed today. Watch this space.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Red Dawn. Or is it?
Hollywood is always being accused of being secretly, or not so secretly un-American, or even anti-American by people who regard such pinko concepts as independent women or pre-marital sex as proof of the end of days. Sure, cultural critics write thought pieces about how movies reenforce societal beliefs and set the paradigms of normalcy, but those assholes went to university, something Jesus never did, so you shouldn't trust them anyway. What are you even doing reading something other than the bible or a Waffle House menu? (Why are you even reading the Waffle House menu? It's smothered, covered, chunked, diced, peppered, capped and topped. C'mon!)
Nevertheless, with the trailer for the Red Dawn remake (best remake ever until 2019's re-imagining of Battleship), I think they may be on to something.
I know, I know. The only images that don't actually have American flags have USA tattoos or football. But consider this: this movie is telling us that all it takes is a dedicated group of (very good looking) young people with some machine guns and grenade launchers to defeat a militarily superior invading power. Ahem... cough... Afghanistan? Sure, it seems pro-American, but I wouldn't be surprised if this movie was written, produced and directed by the Taliban. The call is coming from inside the house! Burn Hollywood, burn!
Nevertheless, with the trailer for the Red Dawn remake (best remake ever until 2019's re-imagining of Battleship), I think they may be on to something.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Success = Fail
Alone, you record an album of delicate mournful tunes in a cabin in the woods. It is released to virtually universal acclaim. You become a pop culture figure, mixing it up with celebrities. When it comes time to do your follow up, you explode the notion of isolation that has surrounded you by recording with a full band of percussion, horns and strings, yet still constructing gentle atmospheric songs. The hype grows, and now you're winning awards and touring stadiums. The fact that you've done all this seemingly without compromising your artistic vision is a remarkable feat. Congratulations.
This has been the trajectory of Justin Vernon, the man behind the moniker Bon Iver, who played in Barcelona last night. And it led to a dilemma for the concert. Songs built on subtle soundscapes, be it a single accoustic guitar or several fluttering saxaphones, lose their intimacy in front of thousands. I don't begrudge an artist I like their success, but when on one side of me stood a girl texting through the entire set, and on the other, a full-on sorority party, complete with hands waving in the air, whooping and grinding WHETHER THERE WAS MUSIC PLAYING OR NOT, I found myself wishing he'd stayed a little more secret, a little more special. Only for the song re: stacks did the crowd SHUT THE FUCK UP and pay attention to what was actually happening on stage. I haven't hated an audience that much since a drooling pack of morons talked all the way through The Sixth Sense in Kansas City. I clearly was not alone, as people were audibly shushing during the show, but it only had the effect of dividing us into jerks and scolds.
So while the musicians were incredibly tight, the music impeccably played, the lights and set impressive, and Vernon likable and chatty onstage, the show ended up being a triumph for the band, but a failure for me.
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