Heretical Orthodoxy

My lips, they're on FIRE

2006-02-09T18:31:00.000-05:00

Alas, I sincerely wish I could share a sample or two, but I am giddy that I have an advance copy of the new Flaming Lips disc in my possession (and on my iPod; thank goodness for watermarked-but-not-locked advances).

I didn't think this is possible, but it's the best of The Soft Bulletin's bittersweet arrangements and the guitar rawk of Transmissions From The Satellite Heart. Lips fans will be chuffed; and more indie-yuppie newbies may indeed join the fold, to the chagrin of the hipsters.

How Charlie Brown and Mister Rogers got me hooked on a hepcat drug addict

2005-12-03T08:12:00.000-05:00

As I've gotten older, Christmas has turned from a season of effortless magic into a time of nonstop busyness and tasks that must be completed, as it usually does for most people. But one way that the magic remains for me is in the music.

As Thanksgiving dinner is digested (and usually not one moment later) I pull out Vince Guaraldi's Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack and the familiar sound of Guaraldi's cerebral piano jazz fills the room. Once again, the Christmas season has turned into an excuse to hear some of my favorite music in the world—and there's a primal connection; I've been listening to this stuff longer than even my most favorite pop music.

Interestingly, when Charles Schultz created his first television special, the now beloved Charlie Brown Christmas, everyone thought he was nuts for using such grown-up music for a kids show. And yet, Guaraldi's soundtrack has contributed immeasureably to the timeless appeal of this holiday chestnut.

Another guy making similar artistic decisions (or, in this context, maybe I should say "another cat") was Fred Rogers. Instead of twee, dumbed-down kiddy tunes for his program, he instead drafted Johnny Costa to lay, again, cerebral piano jazz to carry the show along.

As a 2000 article in Christianity Today notes:

Johnny Costa, who Mister Rogers says was "probably one of the finest jazz pianists in the world," had been the music director for nearly three decades when he died in 1996. "I was a real jazzer," Costa once said, and so he wasn't sure if directing music for a children's program was the best way to use his talents. Rogers encouraged him to do all the jazz he wanted for the program. Costa decided that, rather than create singsongy and childlike music, he would improvise with his own style. He played live in the studio for each program.

The end result, for me, was a process of artistic curiousity and exploration that led me to the prime mover of cerebral piano jazz: Bill Evans, to whom both Guaraldi and Costa owe an artistic debt. Evans, who was classically trained and brought new sophistication to jazz piano, rose to prominence as a member of Miles Davis' late '50s ensemble. He struck out on his own shortly thereafter with Everybody Digs Bill Evans, which I got for Christmas a few years ago.

Probably since I had my own, frustrated, childhood grappling with classical piano (along with seven years of lessons) I've become a bit of an Evans obsessive, as many tend to do... especially musicians. I can certainly listen to as many takes of Waltz For Debby as are out there.

So, the ironic effect of both Rogers' and Schultz' artistic decisions was to make me a huge fan of a chronically drug-addicted jazzer. (Evans was a well-known heroin addict in his '50s and '60s prime, and a cocaine addict thereafter. He died in 1980 at only 51, his life likely shortened by his substance abuse.)

Unfortunately, current children's programs making such progressive musical choices are rare. However, Mister Rogers Neighborhood is still in constant reruns for my moppet, and the Charlie Brown specials tend to pop up regularly as well. Nothing good really goes away. I least, I hope not.

Yuletide Cheer

2005-11-30T22:56:00.000-05:00

How do I know God loves me this Christmas, besides the obvious, of course?

1. The almost-three-year-old moppet is beside herself with joy at everything Christmas. All I have to do is put up a scraggly, wire, Charlie Brown-looking tree, without lights or decorations, and she's dancing around the room and proclaiming in a hushed voice how "beautiful" it is.

2. Two Sufjan Stevens Christmas EPs that I even forgot that I had gotten at some point over the summer. AND a third EP I didn't know existed. It's pretty much all Godric's household is listening to right now.

Did I mention that fellow Scottie Josiah Roe is hosting the full mp3s of these at his blog? Oh yes, he is. Partake in the yuletide cheer, bruthas and sistas.

Find A Human

2005-11-29T22:35:00.000-05:00

As fellow blogger* Jesse Jarnow says, these are secret video game codes for real life...

The cheat sheet to talking to an actual human being at nearly every "service provider."

Breathing normally

2005-09-07T09:06:00.000-04:00

Phew, done with deadline and I'm back. Naturally, as soon as we upload the magazine, all hell (literally) breaks loose in the Crescent City and we have no acknowledgement of it in our pages. While planning some ways of capturing the situation in the next issue (including a feature on fine New Orleans singer/songerwriter Mo Leverett, who has done ministry work in the inner city for a decade now) my personal challenge is to stop talking a big game about what we're going to do and actually get out and do it. First of all, I need to clean out our guest room so we can house some folks. Gotta do it. Pressure washing the deck all weekend was personally satisfying but didn't do jack in terms of making the house more hospitable. Hold me to that.

Had sort of an interesting experiment last week when it looked like the Atlanta area's gas pipelines (from the Gulf Coast) were shutting down and there was a massive run on the pumps. After filling up both cars, we parked 'em. Then the next morning, the moppet and I actually hopped on a bus and took public transit to her daycare (which is thankfully walking distance from a train stop), then I walked across downtown Decatur to work where I picked up a few things. Then I got on my bike (which I'd left at my office), rode four miles Lowe's to pick up a few supplies, then parked at another train station and went to the airport to manage some ticket refunds.

From there, I took another train, then a bus, to my credit union to deposit my paycheck. Then, bus, train, train back to the bike, where I rode two miles home. Gasoline usage = zero. Of course, the nice thing is that I live in a relatively urbanized, older area, where it's actually possible (though more time-consuming) to get around a bit on transit, bike and good old-fashioned shoe leather. In newer areas, where cul-de-sac'd subdivisions all dump out on sidewalk-less 4/6-lane collector roads, biking or walking entails risking ones life, local transit is nonexistent, and everything is at least two miles away by design. Gas crunches reveal the folly of this sort of car-mandatory development more than anything.

With my only real problem being $3/gal+ gasoline I am quite lucky. Now the onus is on us to make sure we do something for the folks who aren't.

Fun music

2005-08-25T10:55:00.000-04:00

I'm in the grip of magazine deadline, so blogging will be light-to-nonexistent through the weekend. However, the moppet made her daddy proud in the car this morning, on the ride to daycare.

I had put in Ozomatli because I felt like something a bit more rhythmic. And halfway through the first song, "Believe," where the rap kicks in, she said: "This is fun music, daddy!" Completely unprompted. Then after the second song, she reiterated: "This is fun."

I am so proud.

Christian Counterculture

2005-08-18T19:31:00.000-04:00

Via TulipGirl, today I read an excellent piece in Swarthmore College's alumni publication on Read Schuchardt, founder of the excellent Metaphilm.

The Schuchardts are outstanding examples of how Christian faith, consistently lived, can become countercultural. I've only met Read once, in NYC (he's a friend of friends), but have been impressed not only with his media-eschewing lifestyle (grounded in biblical philosophy as well as the ideas of Neil Postman, under whom he studied), but with the family's gung-ho willingness to trade near-poverty for a rich family life. The eight of them (that's right, eight), until recently, lived in a tiny apartment in Jersey City. (I had heard it was only two rooms but I'm not sure if that's accurate, or if I'm remembering correctly.)

I met a lot of missionary kids and home-schooled kids in college who also challenged my middle-class cultural assumptions. I could certainly use more of those challenges right now.

Meanwhile the Moppet watches Beauty and the Beast for the umpteenth time and we're planning a trip to the Land of the Mouse. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak...

Not in the Manhattan fishbowl, and oh so glad

2005-08-17T19:16:00.000-04:00

Memo to Jossip: it's called quality songwriting and musicianship. That's why Fiona Apple or India.Arie would ever be considered for a cover story. (And, conversely, why Britney never would be.)

Oh, and the "plenty?" That can be understood, 'round these parts, as "one." (And Godric was working from home that day. Drat the luck.)

Still, we li'l ol' yokuls here in Georgia are chuffed that the snide Gotham eff-offs at Jossip (suggested motto: "We have Jude Law's Johnson") would even notice.

GASP!

2005-08-15T08:08:00.000-04:00

This past weekend, my childhood haunt, Six Flags Over Georgia, decided to retire one of its most venerable rides, a parachute drop called "The Great Gasp!" Since the ride is 29 years old, I have fond memories of, first, watching my dad ride it, then riding it myself with him, back in the 70s and 80s.

So this past Saturday found me and the goddess at the park, but that wasn't the reason. We had promised to take a friends' children (ages 12, 6 and 5) to the park and this just happened to be the day we'd planned. Still, I found myself actually looking forward to the day just a little bit, since I'd be able to take a little walk down memory lane and get a button just like the one they'd given to the first riders.

So we get there, and of course we're scurrying about trying to keep everyone happy, fed, and adequately bathroom'd. The Gasp is a priority but it's way down the list. Then around 4 p.m. the heavens open and we get a thunderstorm to end all, and we're stuck underneath the covered audience section for the "Wild West" gunfight show. We keep waiting for the deluge to slacken, but just when it seems like it will, it comes down even harder. Two hours later, it has let up just enough for us to walk the mile to the gate, then the mile and a half to the car, so we start walking and very quickly are soaked to the bone.

The coup de grace comes after we leave the park. There is a tree down across the pedestrian path, which we're able to squeeze under. Then past it is a tremendous flood, muddy brown in color. (We don't know what was in that, but the 12 year old was happy to supply imaginative guesses.) We have no choice but to keep marching through the flood, which rises to our knees at one point. Finally, with ruined shoes, sopping clothes, blue fingers and chattering teeth we arrive at the car, which is parked next to the Chattahoochee River. (That it wasn't flooded there was a minor miracle.)

Naturally, there's backed up traffic and it takes another hour to exit the parking lot. When we come to the site of the flood we forded, it's no longer there. (Of course.) And my rendezvous with the Gasp? Unfulfilled.

'These are men who take their roles as tastemakers seriously.'

2005-08-12T10:49:00.000-04:00

Vodka before lunch and endless fish tacos. Ooh, my head.

Sufjan O'Connor?

2005-08-11T09:23:00.000-04:00

Sufjan Stevens is not just the prime mover behind what may be this year's best album, he's also an inspiration.

As an artist of faith (as opposed to a "Christian artist") he's a model for integrating faith with his work in such a way that it is still palatable to the mainstream, rather than an ingrown, cultish echo chamber. As a believer working for a growing, mainstream music and arts publication, his example is instructive, even if I likely fall far short of living up to it.

Answer me this - how many true believers have been profiled respectfully in the Village Voice? And how many have been compared to Flannery O'Connor, rather than Falwell or Robertson?

Belle

2005-08-11T09:12:00.000-04:00

Here's a little visual aid to accompany my previous post.

Behold, "Belle."

The Rocky Horror Picture Show, junior version

2005-08-07T21:07:00.000-04:00

The other night the Moppet's babysitter showed up wearing a T-shirt that said: "Best Actress in a Continuing Drama." We loved it and asked if it came in a 3T. Why? This sketch of our routine whilst watching Beauty and the Beast (once a day lately) should provide a pretty strong clue...

1. I announce I'm going to put the movie in. The Moppet immediately starts crying "Pretty dress! Pretty dress!" So I have put on the right pretty dress (prop #1), preferably a blue one, so she resembles Belle.

2. As the movie launches into its opening song, The Moppet searches the room for a certain blue, hardcover book (prop #2) from my library. (It resembles the one Belle holds throughout the number.) Then she twirls about the room holding the book.

3. When Gaston snatches the book away from Belle, The Moppet insists that I follow suit, then I must throw the book in the "mud." At this point she starts repeating lines of dialogue: "I'd like my book back, please." Then she asks for a towel so she can "clean" the "mud" off the book.

4. The next few minutes continue in similar fashion, mimicking the action on the screen, repeating the occasional line, and singing along with the songs.

5. Then during the big dancing scene, it is absolutely mandatory that daddy be available to dance in spindizzy circles with The Moppet.

6. As Belle races off to rescue her father, holding the magic mirror, The Moppet grabs a plastic, bubble-blowing apparatus which is shaped like a hand mirror (prop #3). Then, as Gaston wrestles the mirror away and tucks it in her belt, I have to tuck the bubble-blower in my belt.

A two-and-a-half-year-old drama queen? You be the judge.

Give me some credit

2005-08-06T21:53:00.000-04:00

The goddess and I occupy a peculiar place in American, consumer-mad, debt-addicted society: we only owe money on one thing -- our home. Beyond that, we actually have some savings put away in various categories.

As a result, nearly every day our mailbox holds a form letter with a Delaware return address, and "0%" in bold, 36 pt. type just visible under the envelope. Yes, it's a credit card come-on, which is promptly shredded and tossed. (Apparently those who don't need credit are the most appealing prospective customers.)

So today, in what was apparently an act of sheer desperation, I was sent a solicitation to apply for the Chase Professional Woman's VISA. There was a snappy illustration of the card, which displays anonymous pantyhosed legs with a dangling briefcase.

Nothing else has worked, so I suppose I can't blame them. Still, pretty funny.

Funny things the Moppet says

2005-08-05T15:45:00.000-04:00

To her mother, in the morning: "I don't want to go to Ikea, mommy. I don't want to go to Ikea." (A sentiment daddy can certainly endorse!)

In imitation of you-know-who: "That is not acceptible!"

To no one in particular: "I'm Belle the Cucumber." (Methinks we need to limit the intake of Beauty & The Beast and Veggietales!)

Today's two of three

2005-08-05T14:55:00.000-04:00

Three posts today, to celebrate being back in business (which owes mostly to Firefox giving me back the Blogger tools I was used to in the Windows world. I can do links and pictures again, hurrah. *two lonely hands clapping*)

A few things I'm digging lately--

Anna Broadway's Sexless blog. According to Rolling Stone, she's "Fire, Brimstone and Brains." (RS, how clever and original thou art.) Soon to be a book! Then, a can't-miss Broadway musical! (Really, how can you miss with lyrics like these?)

Next, there's colleague Jason's Next To Last Song. Everything you read here is true.

And how can I leave out the wacky exploits of our interns? Check out The Internment Camp, What We All Want and Houch.

Finally, no one likes to hear this, but most of the music I'm digging right now isn't even officially released yet -- these include:

Nickel Creek's "Why Should The Fire Die"
"Takk," the latest from enigmatic Icelanders Sigur Ros
The should-be-huge "Plans" from Seattle's Death Cab For Cutie
and of course, "Z" from the soon-to-be-internationally-famous My Morning Jacket.

A human face on the situation

2005-08-05T10:49:00.000-04:00

NYC's famously smarmy Gawker usually has little redeeming usefulness (though since I'm in the magazine biz I read it anyway.) However, today they had a great post pointing out the neo-colonial approach of major media organizations to third-world crises.

As they put it, starving African children -- no human faces. Rich white anchor -- human face!

Read it here: "And Such A Nice Human Face".

I'm back, by the way.

Funeral

2005-05-26T22:05:00.000-04:00

I've been gone so long, I'm not sure if I actually have any readers left. Hmm. Well, this should be therapeutic, if nothing else.

I just discovered "Funeral" by The Arcade Fire. Well, perhaps "discovered" isn't the right word, as I'd heard just about all of it from the day it came out in mid-2004. But this recording, by this tightrope-walking, emotionally harrowing indie act from Montreal, recently took on a LOT more resonance in my life. When I'm away from the office, and therefore not listening to CDs that publicists have extracted promises from me to check out, it's on quite a bit.

I think it was these lines, in the first track, "Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)," that just destroyed me:

"And then / we tried to name our babies / but we forgot the names that / the names we used to know"

In the last post I mentioned that we were expecting child #2 in November. Well... now we aren't anymore, and this is an event that comes with very few reliable roadmaps. Is it, technically, a "death in the family?" Well, probably not -- if it really were, there would be the usual trappings of such things: a memorial service, a burial, a marker, then decades of flowers to come.

And yet... and yet, it's certainly much more than getting your tonsils taken out. We saw a speck (which our Moppet once was), saw a tiny heartbeat and got a thermal printout of it to last joyous years to come.

"Funeral" is not a happenstance, hipster-ironic title for The Arcade Fire. The CD was recorded amidst several deaths in the band members' families, as well as the marriage of the two principals, Win Butler and Regine Chassagne. (Such a bittersweet event I know well; our own wedding came about a month before the passing of my mother-in-law.)

So in the absence of a real funeral (which I would have, in some way, really appreciated), so far The Arcade Fire is doing the job. As allmusic.com's James Christopher Monger says: "These are songs that pump blood back into the heart as fast and furiously as it's draining from the sleeve on which it beats."

Yeah, OK, whatever

2005-04-28T00:39:00.000-04:00

Aiiiight, I know I've been neglecting this li'l ol' corner.

But you know, it's probably worth exactly what you're paying for it... What, you're not paying for it? Well, that's what I'm sayin'.

Seriously, this update finds me on the tail end of a butt stomping publication deadline. So below are some pondered, but discarded, blog update subjects:

* Quark tricks, and how I've forgotten all the ones I used to know.
* The productivity stealing goodness of iChat
* How effective I can be at 3 a.m.
* Why you should pay attention to the non-bylined parts of the magazine
* Taqueria del Sol, how I love thee
* Why the new Beck sounds best REALLY REALLY LOUD
* My male co-workers, and why they sometimes come into the office wearing makeup

Now for some real news...

* I've finally gotten around to putting together a response mix for everyone's favorite economist.com scribe. Oh boy, am I swimming in cool new tunes. Alas, one realizes the limits of a 21-song CD when confronted with culling the best from a 35 GB iTunes library. So I may just have to cook up another one.

* My brother is a confessional writing god. His piece on living with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder is one of the best things I've read in a long time. And no, I'm not just saying that because I'm his brother. I really regret, though, the time I almost made him re-squeegee my mom's shower. (I'll post the piece soon, promise.) I'm going to have him come write some stuff for me as soon as I can make sure my fellow editors don't think it's nepotism. It really isn't!

* The Edgewood Retail District is looking better and better the more it gets built out. I still hate the blank walls on the Kroger and the Best Buy facing Moreland, though. And I REALLY hate the imperial Georgia DOT, adding an unnecessary deceleration/turn lane with a huge radius, right into the new urban "main street" of the whole complex. Yep, drivers roaring in at 30 mph-- that'll really help pedestrian traffic! (Does it matter that no one in the neighborhood was in favor of this development? Of course not. GDOT, please observe my raised middle finger.)

* We got our new Mac Mini for the house, with wireless router. As I type this, I'm sitting on my couch with an untethered PowerBook, thanks to the new home wireless network. There is a word for this: "nerdvana."

* I paid $8.50 for someone to retrieve a bottle of Dogfish Head Worldwide Stout from Florida for me. So far I've gone an ENTIRE WEEK without cracking it open. Congratulate me.

* The goddess found a new photographer, one who takes pictures of moppets while charging only fingers and toes, not arms and legs. Speaking of moppets, there's another one set to join the party in late Fall. Whee!

* Cool shows attended recently: Iron & Wine, Tift Merritt / Chatham County Line, Jesse Sykes, David Ryan Harris / Aqualung.

* Cool tunes now spinning: Husky Rescue, Al Green, Ray LaMontagne, Emiliana Torrini, MIDIval Punditz, Coldplay "Speed of Sound" single (I know, isn't everybody?) and Revolutionary Army Of The Infant Jesus (great ambient stuff; old disc recently rediscovered.)

Blog fed? Check. See y'all next week or maybe sooner.

That %&$@ Betsy Ross!

2005-04-14T09:02:00.000-04:00

OK, creative class membership comes with its own, idiosyncratic list of snobberies. That's fine -- most of that I already had. To wit: music (indie and songwriterly), film (indie and/or auteur-driven; definitely not Hollywood Product), books (bouquets for Dave Eggers, Jonathan Safran Foer and David Sedaris; raspberries for Jerry Jenkins and Mary Higgins Clark), beer (gourmet; no industrial product) and food (organic preferred).

Of course, David Brooks had his own name for folks like us: "bourgeouis bohemians."

But I discovered a new one just a few days ago. As a company, we have a flagpole at our disposal, a flagpole currently with no adornment. So our publisher asked me what I thought ought to go there. So I said, "Well, of course the American flag, then right below that, I guess a company flag."

He responded: "Nah, I don't really like the American flag."

Me: "What?!? What are you talking about?"

Him: "It's not the country... I just don't like the design. The design never worked for me."

The bottom line -- poor Betsy Ross. If only she'd gone to SCAD or Renneslaer. Then we creatives could proudly fly her goshdarn flag.

Sheesh.

Musings from the Creative Class

2005-04-14T08:29:00.000-04:00

OK, I suppose it's obvious now how consuming my new job is. Probably closer to the point, it's much more of a creative outlet than my former existence as a corporate cog. Hence... my creative energy ends up in writing and editing rather than feeding this blog. So the bottom line is that while I've not decided to unplug this, I am scaling back my updates. For now, I'm shooting for once a week at minimum (rather than the old almost-daily deal.) I figured it would be good to set expectations rather than having folks come here and be disappointed that the same old thing is still up.

(It could be worse. I could be Ethan and only update my blog once a quarter, if that...)

Anyway, enough blogging about blogging. (Meh!) I've now been a part of the "creative class" for about a month -- this means I'm one of those schmucks who wears jeans to work (or all-black), hardly goes anywhere without his Mac Powerbook G4, and sometimes sets up a temporary office for a morning or afternoon in a coffee shop, bar or restaurant. It also means that work has become less about an 8-to-5 and more about my life. Because I'm so intensely invested in what I'm doing, I've found myself logging on on weekends or late at night to check email and keep things moving forward.

Here are a few of the other culture-shocks I'm grappling with...

* No one in my office has any issues with having a beer at lunch. (Although if it were Bud instead of St. Bernardus Abt. 12, I would certainly face censure!) Actually on this, the opprobrium comes from the goddess, not the bosses. *grin* So it's still a rare event...

* The following things are now called "work": listening to CDs. watching DVDs. going to concerts. collecting pictures. downloading music.

* I'm realizing now how much I took the following corporate standard operating procedures for granted: 1) regular, thorough office cleaning; and, 2) regular emptying of trash and recycling cans. *grin*

* I have to isolate myself at times to get serious stacks of work done. Because I work with friends, am an extrovert by nature, and often choose to be distracted by conversations around me, when in the office I often have trouble sustaining attention on a task for more than an hour. So I have to seek out the aforementioned coffee shop (or just my own dining room) on occasion to churn through some email, editing or my own writing. I realize now that my former newspaper life (and the open newsroom in which I operated) only really worked for me because there was a deadline every day.

Don't ask daddy to dress the moppet... with extra whining for your enjoyment!

2005-03-25T09:06:00.000-05:00

OK, so this morning daddy is trying to be helpful. The curvaceous goddess is in the shower, and I'm guarding the moppet, waiting for her brain to ooze out her ears as she watches a video for the 2,543rd time. So I decide to get the little one dressed -- it hasn't gone well in the past, but this time will be different!

We march into her room and dunderhead daddy looks, deer-in-headlights style, at the contents of her closet. To the right I spy a matched outfit! A cute little overalls-and-frilly-shirt combo. Ye gods! How could daddy go wrong? So I slip the shirt over her head and then start on the overalls. It's a bit of a tight squeeze, and they're a little short, but hey, it's very much Spring here in Georgia, right?

The goddess emerges from the shower, and I proudly display the moppet, and daddy's handiwork. But the satisfied grin quickly fades from my face as my lovely wife takes one look and dies laughing. Yes folks, the overalls are way too small... laughably so. (Suddenly I can now see this.) So... no problem, daddy can fix this. I march back to the closet and pull out another, larger pair of overalls. (The shirt fits fine. Here's to small miracles.)

I put the other pair of overalls on the moppet, and then the goddess emerges from her dressing chambers to take a gander. I head back to get ready for my day, and then emerge to find, strangely, that the moppet is wearing yet ANOTHER pair of overalls. Yes, I had picked another pair past the sell-by date for my growing child.

As I shook my head and walked away, I could hear my lovely wife telling the moppet: "Daddy's trying not to have to dress you anymore."

Honey, believe me when I say this... I'm NOT "trying." Really!

* * *

OK, I'm obviously having issues fitting blogging into my new life, with frenetically fun, but all-consuming new job. Since I'm a writer/editor anyway, I'm going to try to blog to warm up for the day. This will probably limit the number of painstakingly researched, massively linked posts, but I'll try to make the personal rants entertaining. Deal??

The Finns and Roadhouse Relics

2005-03-19T17:50:00.000-05:00

Just got back from an interview and photo shoot with Finnish band Husky Rescue. It was a trip watching these bemused, blond Finns interact with American culture. For the shoot we commandeered cabs and hiked out from downtown Austin to a gallery/shop called Roadhouse Relics.

As we were headed out there, drummer Anssi Sopanen took a long look at a burger joint on the corner called "Whattaburger." Then he shook his head and said: "This is the real deal."

Our photo shoot was next to a rusty old metal trailer, in a yard strewn with old road signs, bumper cars, and 25-cent shopping center "rides." Marko, the band's leader and songwriter, seemingly couldn't get enough of his surroundings, taking digital pics right and left.

Yesirree -- bringing American trash- and sprawl-culture to hip Scandinavians. That's What I Do.

Concert liveblog update!

2005-03-19T00:56:00.000-05:00

Ok, so Marty Stuart just joined Mavis onstage. Maybe liveblogging the occasional significant concert isn't such a bad idea!

Liveblogging from Austin

2005-03-19T00:50:00.000-05:00

Greetings citizens.

This installment finds your humble servant sitting on a floor next to a support post, enveloped in a generous cloud of high-speed wireless. Do I love my new PowerBook with AirPort? Oh yes I do.

Where is my home sweet support post? It's Austin Music Hall. On stage at the moment: Mavis Staples. Coming up: Robert Randolph and the Family Band. Just finished: Blind Boys of Alabama.

I won't liveblog the rest of the evening. But isn't it cool that I COULD?

Update from Austin

2005-03-18T18:54:00.000-05:00

So I ended up going to Austin City Limits. Good. Interesting. Antiseptic.

I won't bore you with the details of the rock'n'schmooze shenanigans here, or the specifics of the semi-sincere half-promises being made right and left. I keep on wanting to say, "What a wacky business!" but is this business really wackier than any other? Nah. There's just a more interesting dress code.

And now for something completely different! In my walking about the fine capitol city of Austin, Texas -- I've noticed that despite the pedestrian-friendliness, there's still lots of room for improvement. Most of this can be categorized as the failure to completely follow The Three Rules of true urban design.

David Sucher's Three Rules are brilliant, simple, and completely followed quite rarely. They are:
1. Build to the street
2. Put parking in back, not in front, and;
3. Make the surface permeable -- with windows, street-level businesses, or the like

It is Rule #3 where Austin often falls short. While the gridded blocks of downtown, with their relatively wide sidewalks and wall of street frontage, are highly walkable by American standards, often the architects and site planners have completely failed in engaging the street. I have been walking by an amazing number of blank walls. While you can do what you want in a suburban, low-density setting, building an ugly blank wall on the streets where people frequently walk is inexcusable.

It is no accident that entertainment districts like East Sixth Street (where I'm currently typing) are among the most dynamic anywhere. Here, more than anywhere else in the city, the Three Rules are consistently followed.

That doesn't mean that the Three Rules automatically ensure a lively (and noisy) bar district -- not at all! But if you want dynamism of any kind, this is the place to start.

The Goddess's List of Infractions Against The Moppet's Secret List of Rules and Guidelines

2005-03-18T18:43:00.000-05:00

We interrupt this rock'n'roll schmoozefest to deliver the following...

My Wife's List of Infractions Against The Moppet's Secret List of Rules and Guidelines

1. Did not provide muffin after providing raisin toast and banana.

2. Did not allow her to wear one pink boot and one white sneaker.

3. Neglected to have "Fluffles" (her stinky stuffed lamb) on the changing table during dressing time.

4. Did not allow her to do a proper amount of wiping her own bottom after dirty diaper.

5. Did not put her sweater on before putting on her pants.

6. Forced her to hold my hand on the way to the car, even though she clearly had her hands full carrying a 12 inch by 12 inch sized baby doll blanket in her other hand.

7. Delayed in properly swaddling Fluffles in a real swaddling blanket and handing him to her after she was seated in her car seat.

NOW, after all the violations listed above: the moppet got mad at her mother this morning taking a route to work/daycare she deemed inadequate. "You don't have a friend, Mommy," she said.

Keep in mind, the child is 27 MONTHS OLD. Folks, we are in TROUBLE.

Blargh!

2005-03-17T14:43:00.000-05:00

Well, this complicates things just a bit... do I stick with ACL or begin the arduous task of picking among the 53 other things to do?

"We have good news and bad news here at AUSTIN CITY LIMITS.

The good news is that Spoon is going to play a longer set.

The bad news is that Ray LaMontagne has had to cancel due to illness.

Times and locations for Spoon remain the same.... Doors open at 1:30 p.m. We
recommend getting here by 2 p.m. Show starts at 3 p.m. As before....Frito
Pies and Beers await you. Admission not guaranteed. First come, first
served."

Mini-holiday over (obviously)

2005-03-16T16:02:00.000-05:00

Greetings, citizens.

With the job transition now in my rearview mirror, I'm now set to get back on the blogging treadmill. And thanks to my* new Mac PowerBook G4 with wireless Internet capability, travel is no longer the impediment it once was.

So I'm going to try to give this blog some love while I'm also feeding the paid outlets. And since I'm neck-deep in pretty much every band I ever wanted to see, there should be enough to write about to feed even the most insatiable appetite.

My plans for the evening:
+ Meet my fellow ink-stained wretches as well as the breed of folks who can either make our jobs incredibly easy or incredibly trying... also known as publicists. (I have sympathy for these folks since I was one until last Friday, but I'm told that will pass.) Free food, free beer -- I'm told this is par for the course.
+ Take in the odd, wry songcraft of the ubiquitous Robyn Hitchcock (he's playing about 20 more shows here this week)
+ Scratch my head at the psychedlic freakouts of Jennifer Gentle
+ Either get my twang fix with the Damnations, listen to the preteens of Smoosh demonstrate how indie pop is done, or hike out to hear the irrestible hooks of Jason Falkner
+ Have my mind expanded by Midlake and get introduced to Abra Moore (a co-worker recommends her highly)
+ Experience what some call Seattle's best pop band: Delour
+ Shake my booty to United State of Electronica
+ Sleep, blessed sleep

To do all this, I will need to skip shows by Elvis Costello, Roy Lamontagne and Tift Merritt. Wow.

Those of you in the know have probably already guessed where I am. Wouldn't you like to be me this week? Unfortunately, most weeks in the new job are nothing like this one. Unfortunately.

* Not really "my" computer. It belongs to my employer. But I can't tell the difference.

I Am Not Cool

2005-03-16T15:36:00.000-05:00

OK, so Godric now is at a superhip, Big Deal music convention/festival somewhere in the middle of the U.S. You know what Lester Bangs said to William Miller in "Almost Famous?" You got it -- I am NOT cool, and I'm feelin' it.

Imagine your humble servant with black shirt, jeans, conservative haircut (after all, until last Friday I worked for a gigantic corporation), receding hairline, and definite deer-in-the-headlights expression. Now, imagine that amidst a sea of musician-types and all of the slicksters who follow in their wake (label guys, promoters, bookers, etc.). There's more spiky hair, size-too-small hipster T-shirts, ponytails, old-guys-dressing-young and black clothing than I even thought could exist at once in one place.

Here is Mr. Fresh-From-The-Corporation, trying to figure out where he fits into all this, and wondering if he has what it takes to engage in roughly a few thousand semi-sincere handshakes, pay attention to a few hundred bands and deftly ease out of conversations with those who want something and are trained not to hear the word "no."

One thing I know for sure -- I love publishing and am certainly relishing that end of my job. It is what God put me on this earth to do, I am convinced. Writing, editing and brainstorming new ways to catch the readers' eyes -- it gladdens my heart in some mystical way. As Olympic runner Eric Liddell said: "When I run fast, I feel His pleasure."

The Moppet, she does not approve

2005-03-16T15:31:00.000-05:00

My darling moppet is now in month number two of a serious “mommy thing,” and it has her daddy feeling down.

It started in January, when we went out west for a family vacation. After five days of mountain fun (feeding my snow-crack habit) I came home whilst the moppet and the curvaceous goddess I call my wife flew to Western Colorado to spend another week with relatives.

Ever since then, the exclamations: “I want MOMMY!” or “No… MOMMY!” have been like little shivs puncturing my skin. OK, yes, I KNOW not to take this personally… but two MONTHS?!?

Silly me, a big man caught up in winning the affection of a two-year-old. But that’s what I’ve done. Or, rather, what I’ve tried to do. We spent every Saturday in February taking swimming lessons together at the Y and exploring the playgrounds of greater southeast Atlanta. Most weeknights have been spent reading countless books.

But when it’s time for baths, dressing, mid-night comforting or even diaper changing, daddy is still persona non grata. Child, this woman may have given birth to you, but I was holding her hand (and, um, her leg) at the time. I ain’t chopped liver. Well, maybe I am, but I’m YOUR chopped liver.

This is not cool, because for us to function well, mommy and daddy need to be interchangeable on the child maintenance front. You see, occasionally mommy needs to do other things, like make dinner or visit her scrapbooking pals… or maybe, possibly, sleep or pee!

And then there are the tantrums.

Just a few days ago, as valiant daddy attempted to get the moppet ready to bed (the Goddess was making dinner) the moppet began pitching a fit as daddy got her ready for a bath – mommy had to come in and place her in the tub for her to go along.

Then the PJs-and-milk routine? Not pretty. The moppet shrieked, screamed and cried (all words except “mommy” being unintelligible) and was flopping around like a caught fish by the time we got to the couch for milk. The Goddess had to put dinner on hold to rescue me and calm down the child.

The good news is that the worst of this seems to have subsided, and she seems to be liking daddy a lot more over the few days since The Tantrum (as I’ve come to think of it).

Naturally, I’m writing this on an airplane, set to spent another five days away. So when I get back, I’m going to have to start over.

The nice thing is that by the time I get through this, I will be ALL SET for her sullen teenage years.

"Say It Isn't So"

2005-03-11T14:07:00.000-05:00

Greetings citizens.

I'm in the midst of a crazy day trying to extricate myself from my current job before the next one sinks its claws into me... so until I can see my way clear to post something substantive, head on over to Paddyco's place and dig the reanimation job he's attempting to perform on our old '80s favorites, Hall & Oates.

Blogging soundtrack: "Just Can't Make It" from Maktub's "Subtle Ways"

Wired: The Resurrection of Indie Radio

2005-03-09T17:51:00.000-05:00

Pursuant to the post below, I found a great piece in Wired magazine that actually gives me a little bit of hope for the future of radio.

Quoting:

Ultimately, broadcasters will have the chance to spray multiple streams of bits into listeners' dashboards and homes - as many as six streams per station, depending on the fidelity requirements of the programming. Because the 1s and 0s in HD radio are functionally identical to those sent across the Net, says Jim Griffin, founder of media consulting firm Cherry Lane Digital, "digital audio implies the ability to carry video, software, email, text messages, you name it." Within a few years, he says, radios will have what he calls a buffer - a TiVo-like device that stores broadcast signals at the listeners' command.

"You program it to store All Things Considered for the drive home. Maybe on the show there's an alert about a new virus. You punch a button and download an antivirus update into your buffer from NPR B, then take that into your house when you get home." Or perhaps you hear a review that makes you want to get a movie or an album, which you download as you drive. Meanwhile, your radio, which taps into the automobile's GPS unit, is constantly scanning for local traffic reports, and when a pertinent one appears, interrupts and then resumes the stored All Things Considered.

"At the other side of the transition," Griffin says, "digital radio isn't necessarily radio in the way we think of radio, other than the fact that it uses transmitters. It's all about pushing and pulling bits into the buffer."

The only dissonant note I would sound: I am not in favor of anything that adds more buttons and distractions to the driving environment. My fellow travelers are distracted enough, thank you.

This just in: commercial radio lies to its listeners

2005-03-09T14:48:00.000-05:00

Have to give a shout to some great press my girl Lisa Wood in Seattle is getting for calling on the carpet the corrupt practices of commercial radio. Sure, I know that commercial radio DJs often are voicetracked from another city, that requests mean jack, and that countdowns are completely fabricated... but the average listener doesn't.

As she says:

“The most frustrating thing to me was the lies,” Wood said. “Every single person that called that radio station generally wanted to make a request. … You’d say, ‘Yeah, I’ll try to get it on.’ But we weren’t, you know. So it came down to this thing where it was like coming up on the playlist then maybe you’d get a good phone call out of it. Then you’d try to edit up the phone call to make it sound like this person actually got his request. It’s so deceitful.”

Lisa, if you're planning to be in Austin, Tex. next week I'd love to buy you a drink. Keep up the good work!

Is Julio Franco 87 years old?

2005-03-08T23:42:00.000-05:00

Well, my brother thinks there's a decent possibility that the Braves first baseman is something more than human. I have to say, I wouldn't be surprised. There has to be more going on there than "Jesus Juice."

.

And heeeere's Steve:

I was watching The Two Towers extended yesterday, and there was the scene where Eowyn gives Aragorn the bowl of stew and they're talking and she says that he rode into war with Theoden's grandfather or something. And she tries to figure out how old he is and it finally comes out that he's 87 and she realizes that he's a Dunedain and all that.

One of these days, the same thing is going to happen with Julio Franco. Someone's going to find a picture of him in some long-lost Negro league photograph from the 40's and we'll realize that all this time he was actually an heir to the great Numenorean baseball players of the west.

Or something like that.

Righteous Journalism

2005-03-08T17:08:00.000-05:00

-- Frontrunner for the coveted (?) "Charlatan Of The Year" Award!

On Sunday night, I was fortunate enough to catch a Dateline: NBC expose of televangelist Benny Hinn. The report was itself a follow-up from a similar report in 2002.

The gist of the NBC report?

Despite Hinn's claims to be "an instrument of God's healing," there is not one single documented instance of someone being healed at one of his "crusades." In fact, the show contacted some people who allegedly had been healed who ended up dying of the very conditions they had been "healed" of.
There is no public accounting of all the millions Hinn raises (NBC didn't say this on the air, but I would point out here how telling it is that Hinn organization is not a member of the Evangelical Council for Financial Accountability, a voluntary watchdog group that makes sure church-related nonprofits handle their resources wisely and in a transparent manner. ECFA now has an article posted to deal with the traffic the Hinn piece has spurred.)
Hinn doesn't keep his promises. "Pastor Benny" promised, on stage, to pay for the education of a child who thought he'd been healed of his eye disease. But the family got nothing, and still has gotten nothing despite repeated promises. (And the child wasn't actually healed, it turns out.)
Hinn lies and exaggerates. "Pastor Benny" has told his followers that their funds help "thousands" around the world. But Dateline's research turned up only 247 children supported by the ministry. I was impressed that it was that many!
Hinn lives a lavish lifestyle, funded completely by his "ministry." This includes a pricey private jet, a multi-million dollar California coastal mansion, $80,000 cars, Beverly Hills shopping sprees, "layovers" in such places as Milan, Cancun and Hawaii, and an insistence on staying only in the most expensive hotel suites on the road. (Many costing nearly $10,000 a night.)

As soon as the piece began, I suspected that the Trinity Foundation of Dallas was involved. The TF (a Christian organization, by the way) has long investigated money-grubbing televangelist charlatans like Hinn, to the point that nearly every TV expose you see on one of these guys uses Trinity's well-oiled research machine. This was the first time I'd seen Trinity's leader, Ole Anthony, do an on-camera interview though.

Trinity rightly puts these guys in the crosshairs because they prey on the weakest and most vulnerable, and have the gall to do it in the name of Jesus. There are thousands of really sick people who go to Hinn crusades, wait fruitlessly for a call to the stage, and leave bitterly disappointed. And there are people who give him money they can ill afford, only to have it fund private jet trips to the Mediterranean.

And after all this, solid guys like Michael Horton (who had the audacity to publicly check Hinn's theology against the Bible) have to get hate mail because they dared to publicly question one of "God's Anointed." (Check out the selection here, and note the awful grammar, spelling and reasoning from the Hinn defenders.)

But here is the point I love in all this: by virtue of having Christians involved in repudiating charlatans like Hinn, the issue of having greedy televangelists represent Christianity in the media is negated. Negated, because anyone who watched the entire piece saw thoughtful, balanced Christians like Horton and Anthony join in condemning Hinn, his theology and his methods.

In this respect, it is far different from the televangelist exposes of the 1980s, when many did equate televangelists with evangelical Christianity.

The difference between Benny Hinn, Inc. and the Trinity Foundation is night and day. Ole Anthony and Trinity challenge me to the core. In inner-city Dallas, they take in the homeless and work with them until they're able to be self-supporting... a process which involves everything from dealing honestly with addictions to getting restraining orders to halt violent ex-spouses. According to Anthony, who's passionate about this, if every church in the U.S. took in just one homeless person we'd lick the whole problem.

Anthony, a rich man at one point, now lives a pauper's life, and his ministry is gut-level. (Trinity also publishes a religious satire magazine: "The Door," which I love.) It feels like what Jesus would be doing, which is much more than I could say for "Pastor Benny."

I love Trinity's explanation of why their investigative work is necessary:

The church should be shocked by the televangelists' blatant parade of pagan ideas and their "gimme gospel of greed." The church should be ashamed for allowing a $2.5 billion business to prey on the elderly, the poor and the desperate and do it in the name of God.

I'm calling this paganism, because if you take the cross out of Christianity, nothing is left but paganism--even if it looks like a church. And the cross is nowhere to be found in these broadcasts. Sadly, the only picture many people have of God is through these televangelists' TV circuses.

Amen!

"I've been everywhere, man"

2005-03-08T15:17:00.000-05:00

I'm in the midst of a "departure" from my major airline employer to be a full-time scribbler, and I was asked an interesting question at lunch today: where are all of the places I've traveled on my airline benefits?

Full disclosure: while Finchale, UK is where my heart lives, I personally must reside in Atlanta, Georgia. (Suggested slogan: The Next Best Thing to a Real City in the American South.)

So here's an exhaustive list of my destinations. I've put asterisks next to the places I've visited in a single day at least once (with no hotels involved.)
Albany, N.Y.
Asheville, N.C.
Amsterdam
Barcelona
Beijing
Bentonville, Ark. (NW Ark. Regional)
Boston*
Brunswick, Ga.
Brussels
Chicago*
Cincinnati*
Cleveland*
Colorado Springs, Colo.
Columbia, S.C.*
Dallas
Denver
Detroit
Dublin
Grand Junction, Colo.
Greensboro, N.C.
Greenville/Spartanburg, S.C.*
Hartford, Conn.*
Houston
Kansas City, Mo.*
Kuwait City
Jacksonville, Fla.
Las Vegas
London
Los Angeles*
Montreal
Myrtle Beach, S.C.*
New York*
Omaha, Neb.
Ontario, Calif.
Orlando, Fla.*
Philadelphia*
Phoenix
Portland, Maine*
Rome
Saint Louis
Salt Lake City*
San Diego
San Francisco
Seattle
Sint Maarten, N.A.
Tampa, Fla.
Tulsa, Okla.*
Washington, D.C.*
Worcester, Mass.

Open for business

2005-03-08T10:56:00.000-05:00

OK, folks, I'm back. I've been going through a work transition, and some last-minute traveling, but now I plan to pour some energy into this blog. (A pity -- I had been blogging elsewhere and had raised my profile quite well in the TTLB ecosystem, but now I am starting over for various reasons. However, just know that I'm not new to this!)

For now, expect at least one update every weekday. Probably in the evening if I'm being good.

Topics upcoming:
* The New Urban / Big Box conundrum
* A surprising breeding ground for "Next Big Things"
* World-class ale in cans? You bet!
* Gunning down the charlatans
* Post-evangelicalism and how I avoided it
* Colonizing the "commons" -- a place where the Left has a real point
* The moppet's "mommy thing" and how it makes daddy feel
* Snow=crack. The addiction of winter sports.
* What Joel Osteen and the LDS Church have in common

I'm a wanderer, yes, but also a professional writer. Heretical Orthodoxy is my scratch pad for ideas (often those which have no place in the paid outlets), and I welcome conversationalists.

A map of my wanderings

2005-03-02T13:15:00.000-05:00

Silly exercise. But fun.

bold the states you've been to, underline the states you've lived in and italicize the state you're in now...

Alabama / Alaska / Arizona / Arkansas / California / Colorado / Connecticut / Delaware / Florida / Georgia / Hawaii / Idaho / Illinois / Indiana / Iowa / Kansas / Kentucky / Louisiana / Maine / Maryland / Massachusetts / Michigan / Minnesota / Mississippi / Missouri / Montana / Nebraska / Nevada / New Hampshire / New Jersey / New Mexico / New York / North Carolina / North Dakota / Ohio / Oklahoma / Oregon / Pennsylvania / Rhode Island / South Carolina / South Dakota / Tennessee / Texas / Utah / Vermont / Virginia / Washington / West Virginia / Wisconsin / Wyoming / Washington D.C /

Go HERE to have a form generate the HTML for you.

Hat tip: TulipGirl.

2005-02-28T11:39:00.000-05:00

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.

By way of introduction

2005-02-27T18:51:00.000-05:00

Greetings, I am your host, Godric of Finchale. I am aware that there was another individual of the same name who lived during the middle ages. Read up on his life, and you'll get a mighty clue to mine.

I am a Christian who detests most trappings of "Christian culture" in this New Rome in which I live. Including many so-called "Christian leaders." Hense the "heresy" of the title. Forsake this space if you are averse to the occasional bout of salty language. It's difficult to live down my past.

I love my God, my dear saviour Jesus, and also, without apology, the following things: curvaceous women (namely my dear Wife), sweet moppets (my Daughter chief amongst them), strong ale, proper urban design, modern musick done with taste and panache and words properly employed.

I am a scribbler by trade, after a long career of installing fire alarms.

Welcome to the conversation.