Laugh, and cry, and cry, and laugh about it all

Leonard Cohen was amazing. And I don't use that term lightly!

In fact, I probably do use that term lightly, so for the purpose of this statement I am temporarily reconfiguring my usage of the term "amazing" to something particularly powerful, and then applying my newly reconfigured, non-lightly-used term, to Leonard Cohen. He was Amazing₁.

He played for about 3 hours, including a 15 minutes intermission. He played the span of most of his career, from Suzanne to In My Secret Life, via Chelsea Hotel and The Future. It's hard to really pick out the particularly brilliant moments, because each song really does its own thing, has it's own thing to say, it's own effect to create... And all that.

I'll settle for saying these two things: The most emotional moment, for me, came at the end of the first half, when he performed Anthem. It helps that I probably already found this one of his most powerful songs. The music complements the lyrics perfectly, and the lyrics are among the most beautiful I've heard. The name, Anthem, is truly appropriate for the song, which seems to singularly encapsulate and enunciate everything that Leonard Cohen's work is about, and, on the night, Cohen introduced it as though it were a manifesto. In short, throughout his performance, I resembled Rob in this comic.

The funniest moment, on the other hand, was the performance of Tower Of Song. Now that song clearly has its funny moments, but I never really saw it as a humourous song before this performance. It probably helped that it is a song about growing old, and he was singing it to a huge audience, the average age of which was probably about 60. But in particular, he managed the most perfect delivery imaginable for the lines

I said to Hank Williams: how lonely does it get?
... Hank Williams hasn't answered yet.

... You... You probably had to be there. I, for one, can say I am damn glad I was.

In between songs, he was incredibly charming. He had this way of coming across as the most kind, humble, respectful, gracious presenter that I have ever seen. Perhaps this has something to do with spending 5 years secluded in a Buddhist monastary, I don't know. Much of his banter was clearly rehearsed, carried over from one performance to the next, but it was still entertaining, and funny. I can kinda forgive him for this, as any genuine audience interaction probably doesn't work too well in a venus like the Entertainment Centre. I could have more complaints about the venue, but frankly it probably wasn't too bad for a show like this. I could hear everything, even with not-too-good seats, and, though the music certainly didn't seem to fill up the space or anything, I'm not sure it really had to.

Anyway, long story short, Leonard Cohen: Amazing₁.

The Semantics of (a) Superlative Aesthetic Judgement.

Obviously I'm in the mood for talking about Leonard Cohen, what with my excitement and all. Here's a statement that I heard somewhere about the dude, with which I am inclined to agree: "Leonard Cohen is the best songwriter of his generation." It sounds plausible. But then, of course, having done too much analytic philosophy, I begin to wonder what exactly that means. What claim am I assenting to? What does this statement mean? Or... To narrow it down a bit, who is his major competition? How long is a generation, and where do we measure it from? Well, assuming that we're talking about a Cultural generation, and that a cultural generation is around 10 years, then...

If we measure it from his birth, 1934... I really don't know many songwriters from around that time at all. The only that really spring to mind are Jacques Brel and Serge Gainsbourg, born 1929 and 1928. The latter I'm really yet to appreciate at all, and the former... Well, he could probably give Cohen a run for his money.

Unfortunately I feel I can't really compare them that well, as much of the greatness of both Brel and Cohen is in their lyrical talents, and obviously I'm very poorly situated to assess the lyrical talents of Jacques Brel. Anyway, I'd be inclined to give it to Cohen just because... Brel songs have a tendency to be just a little samey. Like, he has the slow, softish, melancholy songs like Ne Me Quitte Pas, and the constantly building, triumphant songs, like L'âge Idiot (and I love both styles, of course, but still) (Edit: In retrospect, all that is total lies.). Cohen seems to do a lot more to play with genre and style, alter his instrumentation and delivery, and cover a wider range of moods. Of course, I wouldn't be surprised if I'm still being misled by the translation gap here.

On the other hand, if we want to claim that an artist belongs in a certain cultural generation by virtue of their first work in the medium under question being released around a certain time, Leonard Cohen will be in a very different place, as he only came to songwriting relatively late in life, with his first album being released in 1968, when he was 33. This would put him in company with which I'm a lot more familiar, like Frank Zappa and John Cale, Van Dyke Parks and David Bowie. Perhaps even Brian Eno and Jonathan Richman, if you wish. I'm sure you can make up your own list, my point is just that, in this company, I would be much more reluctant to declare him the best of his generation. But, truth be told, I would still be tempted...

Which bring me to the next part of the statement that needs analysis, "best songwriter." Well for starters, in case it isn't obvious, I'm taking "best" to mean something fairly subjective. Something like "my favourite," but, in a vaguely Kantian way, really more "my favourite, for strong aesthetic reasons beyond mere attachment, bias, positive associations, familiarity, etc... And in such a way that I think he should be YOUR favourite as well, whoever you may be." Though to be somewhat unKantian, I might restrict that last bit to "assuming you are relatively similarly culturally situated to me," mainly for reasons mentioned above to do with translation. I think I'm also putting an implicit "that I know of" after "best." Or perhaps after "songwriter." You get my point.

But anyway, I think the fact that this statement is assessing him as a Songwriter is what gives it such credibility. I would not be so inclined to suggest that he is the best Performer of his generation, or the best Musician. In fact, I think the reason the claim is framed in this way is... Well, frankly it's probably because most people these days probably know Jeff Buckley's cover of Hallelujah better than any actual performance of Leonard Cohen's. Which naturally I'm inclined to think is disappointing. Especially because Jeff Buckey's cover owes more to John Cale's cover than to the original.

Obviously to speak of the best songwriter rather than, say, the best musician, shifts attention away from... Away from individual performances, and on to... Some kind of isolated idea of the song... Itse- When I think about it, I'm not sure how much sense this makes. I mean, maybe on some theoretical level I can understand the idea of the song as a completely distinct entity of which there are multiple instantiations, but, perhaps just because I'm not a musician myself, I certainly can't really operate with that concept in making a judgement about relative merits. I mean, to use that above example, the John Cale and the Leonard Cohen renditions of Hallelujah are so utterly different, I can't see how I'm positioned to see how much of the value of each comes from the songwriting, and how much comes rather from the cluster of features associated with "musician," "performer," etc. This is especially so when I'm personally terrible at identifying which aspects of a song come from its production, or even following individual instruments unless I try really hard. I'm terrible at noticing hooks, identifying riffs, and all that.

In the end, I suspect the only thing that I can really, distinctly, unambiguously pick out as being attributable to the Songwriter is the lyrics. And if the focus is put on the lyrics, then naturally Cohen has a huge advantage. Still, this is not to say that the lyrics are dominating this judgement, as I would get very different results from "greatest songwriter" judgements and "greatest lyricist" judgements. I mean, besides anything else, Elton John wouldn't be eligible for one, and Bernie Taupin wouldn't be eligible for the other.

Anyway, I suppose in the end I really have nothing as firm to say about the semantics of "songwriter" as I hope I do about the semantics of "his generation" in this statement. I suppose in the end my conclusion to all of the above is that, while I'm inclined to agree that Leonard Cohen is the greatest songwriter of his generation, I am nonetheless not quite sure what I mean by agreeing to that, and I am well aware that, were the statement to be more fully specified, I may no longer find myself agreeing.

Snarky Comment Of The Day!

“We do have an organ for understanding and recognizing moral facts. It is called the brain.” - Paul Churchland.

In related news, PhilPapers is online. And this is the best news ever. There's a bit of work to be done with Categorization still, but, even in this underdeveloped state, it's looking like a freakin' useful resource for finding philosophy papers.

Also, I see Leonard Cohen tonight! Tonight!! I'm rather excited!

Trouble In Dreams

I feel like I had a really insecure dream last night.

Like, anyone could've just broke into it and downloaded all the delicious, unencrypted content.


Anyway, in other news, recent fun things include: The Longest Journey, Liberal Crime Squad, Multiplayer Civ 4, and a surfeit of 1970s British folk rock.

Recent unfun things include: Awareness of having done insufficient work, occasionally inclement weather, missing meals due to Multiplayer Civ 4 (clearly I need to get me some corn flakes), and lack of a fourth item to make this list balanced with the previous one.

With stirring emotions

I'm still in the mood for talking about David Byrne! Probably because of the seeing him in a few weeks.

The first David Byrne solo album I heard was Grown Backwards, which I heard shortly after it came out in 2004. And there's a song on this album, Empire, of which* I'm growing increasingly fond.

Anyway, this song is like an anthemic paean to the Republican party, a manifesto even. Thus, obviously, coming from David Byrne, it's completely, thoroughly** ironic, in the good ol' fashioned sense of the word. But what really gets me about this song... Well, there's the way the music perfectly accompanies the lyrics, such that an entire style of music is satirically skewered along with the contents of the lyrics. Though also, the fact that the song can become so singable after a few listens is probably also an insightful commentary on the power of this kind of music to inculcate its attitudes in a moderately receptive audience.

But what I was going to say is that what really gets me about the song is how relatively reasonable the lyrics are, for an ironic satire. As in, there's very little in the lyrics that you couldn't imagine a not-far-from-mainstream conservative wingnut saying. Byrne doesn't feel the need to grotesqueify his targets by suggesting they're baby-eaters or anything. He rather, more or less, uses their own words.

One of the more absurd sections goes:

Young artists and writers, please heed the call
What's good for business is good for us all

Now maybe I've been reading too much Sadly, No, but I don't find it too hard to imagine some right-wing American pundits lamenting the lack of pro-business attitudes in the artistic community. Of course, these lines take on a certain absurdity within the context of what is more or less a pop album, but, well... If it wasn't for that context, and if I didn't know this was by David Byrne, I would probably take this song completely seriously, and thus never listen to it. This is what I find so interesting.

To be fair, probably the least immediately believable section in the song goes:

And as it is in nature, so it is in life.
The weak among us perish, the strong alone survive.

Even that, though, doesn't seem too unlikely to come from the mouth of, say, an Objectivist.

Anyway, I think I'm done. I just felt like sharing those thoughts, and my fondness for that song. As a matter of fact, David Byrne has said much the same stuff himself, here, making this post fairly redundant, but... Err... Bye!


* I'll try doing that uploading it to a place so that other people can hear it thing here, but I don't know how that'll go.
** I wish I could learn to spell "thoroughly" without a dictionary.

Rising like a stone?

As you have probably suspected for some time, today's post will be about song lyrics that employ strange similes to describe the way that something rises!

Our first competitor is, of course, Africa, by Toto. This one is an interesting case, because although I could always tell that Kilimanjaro was rising like something above the Serengeti, it took me a while to work out exactly what comparison was being made. At first, I was fairly sure the line was

I know that I must do what's right,
As sure as Kilimanjaro rises like a Memphis above the Serengeti

Now obviously that doesn't make much sense. I suppose, as Wikipedia tells me, Memphis was briefly a Confederate stronghold in the American Civil War, so presumably it "rose" against the Union... But that's stretching it a bit. Anyway, I think the degree to which that made no sense made me switch my interpretation of the line to

As sure as Kilimanjaro rises like a Phoenix above the Serengeti

This interpretation makes much more sense. You know, Phoenixes, with their Rising from the Ashes. They rise. Things can therefore rise like them. I'd buy that. Unfortunately... Objection! The word(s) in question, upon listening, actually sound nothing like "A Phoenix." I suspect I only ever got this version in my mind by confusing Memphis and Phoenix, as two American cities, and sticking to the latter due to its making more sense. It was only relatively recently that I discovered what the lyrics actually were:

As sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti

Yep, those are the actual words. You can see how I made my mistake; Olympus... A Memphis... They sound kinda similar. "So anyway," you say, "there's nothing really strange about that simile, is there?" Well here's what gets me... Toto obviously want to employ some kind of evocative descriptive technique to conjure an image of how a mountain rises out of the ground... So they do so by comparing it to... The way a different mountain rises out of the ground. What the hell kind of simile is that? Frankly, I would've prefered "A Phoenix."

My advice to Toto: try studying Genesis. I mean, the band, not the book. When they want to describe the way a mountain rises, they do it with style, as in The Fountain Of Salmacis.

From a dense forest of tall dark pinewood
Mount Ida rises like an island.

See, that simile actually does some kind of evocative work. Bit of a cliché perhaps, but I'm still giving it kudos.

Our next strange simile to describe the way that something rises comes from a song I haven't actually heard, alas. Namely, Fresh Air For My Mama by 10cc:

The cost of living in dreams
Is rising like a crime wave

Now, I'm inclined to give them some credit for making the simile relate to the themes of the song as a whole, but this still looks a little strange to me. Do crime waves really rise? I would've thought that, like actual waves, they would more Sweep or Crash or something. But then, maybe I'm not really up to speed with my wave collocations. Google has quite a few hits for "wave rising," so I'm probably off base here. You win this round, 10cc!!

My final simile, however... I'm fairly sure this one makes no sense. If someone wants to explain it to me, knock yourself out. It's from David Byrne's Glass, Concrete & Stone. The lines are

The Moon
Is rising like a discotheque

...
I think that one wins.

Sydney? Festival!

The Sydney Festival has started! Woo, in principle.

Personally, on the opening night, I was... Off having a (delightful) dinner in Eastwood. But then, when the dinner was finished, I scooted off to the city, to catch as much of the festivities as I could. I got there only a bit before 10, so naturally, as much as I could was not much. Still, I really love the whole Streets Full Of People Wandering Around Being Festive thing. Streets Full Of People Wandering Around Being Festive is one thing about which I really can't be cynical.

Naturally I was trying to get into the Domain to see Grace Jones, about whom I know precisely nothing, but it was full by the time I got there. Still, wandering around Macquarie Street and Martin Place I stumbled upon the Pyrophone Juggernaut. Which, as that picture may indicate, was pretty awesome. They played a short, 20 minuteish set, which I ended up seeing twice. I'm torn between saying "Because it was that good!" and admitting that I probably wouldn't've stayed for the second performance if I had realised that I actually came in right at the start of the first. Anyway, it was good enough that, after 15 minutes of it, I hung around to see some more.

Of course, when I say it was that good, it's worth keeping in mind that I really have a thing for fire. Which I find odd, because this seems to be a relatively new thing. I didn't play with fire much as a kid, I still have trouble lighting matches... I found Wheeler annoying. I suspect it goes back to playing Dungeons and Dragons in 2nd year, when I started playing with the candles that our DM had spread all over the table. But even then, it was actually more the wax that I enjoyed playing with. Oh, and burning my hair to make that delightfully horrible smell.

Okay, so maybe I don't really have such a fondness for fire. In which case Pyrophone Juggernaut must've been good on their actual, non-spectacle-based merits! Oh, as for what it actually was... Well, basically they played music, while flinging a whole lot of fire around. I gather the idea was that some of the music was made by blowing fire up huge pipes. Unfortunately, that sound was mostly drowned out by excellent percussion, with the steel drums and the pipey things and the whatnot. Still, the pyrophone looked snazzy, and occasionally produced some nice warm blasts of heat.

The music itself was very... Well, we all know how annoying this term is, but I'm just going to say it, the music was very world-musicy. Which, along with the spectacle, the presentation, the atmosphere, and my mood at the time, rubbed me exactly the right way. But here's the best thing about the whole event: While walking to the bus stop at the end of their last performance, I thought "I really want to hear more music like that now." So I went to my iPod and started playing some Dead Can Dance. I hadn't heard Dead Can Dance for ages. I have a heap of their music, but somehow it all got itself a 0 star rating, and so rarely came up in Party Shuffle. And you know what? It's damn good. Like, really good. Like, I really really like it. I mean, again I was in perfectly the right mood for it just then, but still.

Oh, and of course, listening to Dead Can Dance got me thinking "I should watch Baraka again." Baraka, in case you sadly haven't seen it, is an awesome Koyanisqatsi-like film. I can never quite decide which of those two films I prefer, but I can decide that I really love them both a lot. A few pieces of music in Baraka are by Dead Can Dance, hence the connection. In related news, turns out Ron Fricke is making a sequel to Baraka, about which I'm pretty dang excited.

So I was thinking about Baraka... And that got me thinking about Sid Meier's Alpha Centauri. You see, much of the footage for the Secret Project movies in Alpha Centauri comes from Baraka. So I played that a bit yesterday. Instead of watching Baraka. Anyway, it was awesome. I don't know if they're making a sequel to that.

Tomorrow, I see Bill Callahan at the Famous Spiegeltent. Will he also be awesome? Only time will tell! About 21 hours of time!

(Special Bonus Condensed Version Of Above Post!!!:

Pyrophone Juggernaut: Awesome.
Dead Can Dance: Awesome.
Baraka: Awesome.
Sid Meier's Alpha Centauri: Awesome.
Bill Callahan at the Famous Spiegeltent: Awesome?

Not my greatest post ever

I told someone I was going to write a defence of John Vanderslice against his RELENTLESS ATTACKS, but now I can't really be all that bothered. I mean... Ma... Maybe he really is only an 8 after all.

But, on the other hand...

You see, my problem with Vanderslice, beside the fact that his extremely awesome name blinds me to his actual quality, and the fact that my bitterness at barely being able to hear him over the chattering louts at the Metro when I saw him in 2007 naturally rallies me to his support, is that this sentence is too long.

I'm not particularly fond of much of his early stuff, like his work with MK Ultra, and much of his first three albums. But, on the other hand, I really like a lot of his most recent three albums.

Also, the most salient criticism of him is kinda true; he really does have an obsession with the World Trade Centre attacks. Emerald City seems to be pretty much entirely about it, and so do a number of songs on his previous albums. But, on the other hand, I think I have a certain appreciation for his ability to constantly write about the same thing from a wide range of perspectives, and with significant differences of style. Also, I think I generally get a little bit annoyed at the apoliticism of much modern indie rock. I mean, it seems like in the 80s everyone had something (nasty) to say about Thather or Reagan, in song format... There were the Punks getting pissed off about everything, and before that a whole lot of politically charged Folk music. But then, though I know I'm listening to the wrong genres for it, it seems like everyone clammed up during the Bush & Blair era, which are hardly slim pickings for political rage. Really, I think my favourite political song of the last 10 years is Sovay, by Andrew Bird, and that took me quite a bit of listening just to realise he's singing about the Iraq war. I miss the blatentness of Margaret On The Guillotine. Back when I was 3.

But that's all a bit of a side-rant, considering that even Vanderslice doesn't seem to be straightforwardly critical in any way that I can obviously determine. But I figure I'm probably pretty bad at picking this stuff out. I'm probably missing the blatent political rage in... Like... The Shins, or Beirut or something.

Anyway, just to confirm this, he does actually have SOME songs that's AREN'T about 9/11. Like Angela. Which is about him losing his friend's rabbit. And then, apparently, trying to make up for it by suggesting they leave the city and "get some land out in the middle of nowhere." Real classy there, Vanderslice.

I think I'm getting off the point again. This is a problem with Vanderslice, he makes me get off the point.

Ah, that's right, I should mention his qualities! Well, musically he... Does some stuff with harmonies and electronicy things and whatnot, of which I heartily approve. I guess I just think... I think he's very good at creating moods. I may as well mention my favourite example, his song Up Above The Sea. Both lyrically and musically, I feel the song does an excellent job of evoking a kind of terrible, foreboding paranoia. It's something to do with... The percussion, I suppose. And his voice. Actually, there's not much else in the song, so that would be it.

You know, in the end, I'm pretty sure I'm not actually going to convince anyone of anything here. Give him a 7 if you want, see what I care. I'm sticking to an 8.5, at the least.

:(

A Nanecdote.

Something just gave me a brief inclination to change my facebook status to "Brendan is wondering about wonderful things, such as himself."

But then I thought "before I do that, I might look up the definition of Wonderful, to see if that status makes any sense."

So, I did a Google search for "Definitions."

WHAT THE HECK?!?

Any old lie will do

Avocado Juice! Delicious! Who'd've thought it? To be fair, it was more like a kind of sweet avacado flavoured dessert beverage. I mean, obviously if you just tried to juice an avacado you wouldn't get very far.

Anyway, that's what I had for dinner last night. Also, some kind of plate of miscellaneous eatables, called a "Vegetarian Delight," a bowl of dry noodles in shallot sauce, and 2 Vegetarian Buns. Am I doomed to eat foods with "Vegetarian" in their names for the rest of my life? Anyway, I probably haven't made it sound like much, but it was truly the most delicious meal I have had in months. Though I do have a short memory for food. If this was actually a food-blog, or I was actually a foodie-type, I'm sure I would've taken a photo with my new camera. Before I ate it. Oh, and the meal was at Din Tai Fung, in World Square. Recommended!

In related news, immediately after the meal I saw The Dodos and Fleet Foxes. The former exceeded my moderate expectations, the latter met my extremely high expectations. Still, that's all the review I'm giving it. If you want more then, as per usual, this guy has more. Or, you know, ask me some time. But don't expect much coherence. Hell, even that guy is hardly coherent. I think I am a little skeptical about the ability to be, all at once, coherent, expansively informative, and evaluative in a concert review. I mean, an album review, sure, but... Well, I can't imagine myself giving much more than a "OMGFLEETFOXESARETEHWONDERFUL" after a concert. Maybe a "THEYPLAYEDINSTRUMENTSWELL" if you're lucky. But then, that's probably just me. And actually, it's also probably just me now. Like, at 1 am the following night. Maybe I'll give it a real try after David Byrne in a month's time, considering I suspect no one else I know will be seeing it for themselves. Or caring.

I'm damn excited about David Byrne.

Start of Anecdote

I've been listening to a lot of Destroyer lately. But today I noticed the lyric "Was it the movie or the making of Fitzcarraldo where someone learned to love again?" And I was all, like, "I've seen Fitzcarraldo!"

End of anecdote.

(Bonus non-anecdotal fact!: Destroyer is awesome.)

(Bonus reporting of mood!: I'm damn excited about Fleet Foxes tomorrow.)