Rock On: An Office Power Ballad

I could already tell by the title that this book would be about Rock n' Roll for yuppies. (I didn't even see the subtitle, an office power ballad, until now.) However, it defied my low expectations and proved to be well-written, poignant, and most importantly, relatable.  

It is simultaneously a glorification, a mockery, and an accurate portrayal of the music industry. The author has the jaded yuppie wit of an office goon, and the heartbreakingly sincere passion of a rocker. The result is a bittersweet chronicle of a huge record company during its swan song. I made the mistake of reading this book in a library, which is unfortunate because I was constantly shushed for laughing so much. Although most of the humor was funny because it happened to someone else, I don't pity the author. If anything, I envy him. Not only did he have a once-in-a-lifetime experience, but his writing skills far surpass my own.

Kennedy had the blessing/curse of working for an industrial giant that brought everything from ephemeral pop sensations to musical revolutions to an entire generation. He, like many others, went down with the ship, but unlike many, he lived to tell of it. 

In a nutshell, it is an autobigraphical account of a kid who dreamed of being a rockstar and instead got a white collar job at the record label that employed his idols. His misadventures were bizarre, stressful, and (since they didn't happen to me) amazingly funny. Four stars outta five. 

Shakespeare And Metal: Part II

Last night I watched a rerun of Metalocalypse when Nathan Explosion had to read the complete works of Shakespeare, and then I was reminded of one of my many projects that I initiated and subsequently abandoned. So, at long last, here is the second installment of my speculations on the connexion betwixt Shakespeare and Metal.

Last time, I had Othello on my mind. Now, I'm thinking about Hamlet. The titular character is a hesher and a half. As countless Metal documentaries and fans are forever reminding us, Metal is all about the underdogs. Our first introduction to Hamlet in Act I, Scene II shows him insulting his enemy Claudius. His very first line in the entire play is "A little more than kin, and less than kind." From Twisted Sister to Arch Enemy, Metal exemplefies the rebellion against such foes. Whether it's bitchy authority figures, corrupt governments, or society as a whole, everyone has oppressors who are too close for comfort.

This rebellion takes a more humorous and less sinister tone in Act II, during which Hamlet verbally kicks Polonius' ass. Seriously, try to read this dialogue (the good stuff starts at line 170) and not think of Beavis And Butthead dissing a lame music video. Hamlet ruthlessly mocks Polonius' old age, his ignorance, and even insults his daughter's sexuality. However, this scene  is more than mere comic relief. Polonius, in an uncharacteristic moment of wisdom, asserts that "Though this be madness, yet there is method in't." Even more than rebellion, unison in entropy is the pinnacle of Metal art. From the music itself to the bedlam state of a mosh-pit, Metal is all about turning your insanity into something artistic and meaningful.
 Uh... Sorry guys, but it turns out that Hamlet isn't exactly light reading, so I could only get through two acts today before the process got tedious. I'm sure that there's more similarities between the play and Metal, but I'm gonna take the easy way out and just remind you that everyone dies at the end. Ja, datz brootalz.

Veneficium

Asylum Arcanum is a ruthless, disturbing glimpse into the scarred history of insane asylums.  The book itself is heavy and informative, despite several grammatical errors. Photographs document the rise and demise of “Kirkbride” asylums. These asylums were infamous for such practices as lobotomies, electroshock therapy, and forced sterilizations. The book offers some insight into the doctors who instigated such notorious treatments, and their tragic stories of good intentions gone awry. Once their revolutionary methods were criticized, of course they rabidly defended their life’s work to the bitter end, performing more and more appalling treatments in vain attempts to prove their effectiveness. What resulted was a vicious cycle of  corruption and reform.

Morbid curiosity is one thing, but Asylum Arcanum delves deeper than that. The authors (W. Cummings and J. Schwartz) had not only interest, but a profound respect for the lives of the otherwise forgotten inmates of such establishments.  Immortalized by this book, these people retain a  semblance of dignity of which they were deprived during their lifetimes.

The accompanying CD features a variety of tracks ranging from rhythmic noise with soft soundclips (think Pink Floyd’s “One Of These Days”) to painfully high-pitched xylophones and bells (think Ozzy’s “Mr. Tinkertrain”).  Overall, the CD is ambient, atmospheric, and (dare I say it?) arcane.  Although the music complements the text and in fact enhances the reading experience, the whole CD lasts under 30 minutes and indeed becomes tedious if played any longer than that. Needless to say, these aren’t exactly party jams either. The CD is best listened to in solitude, as it embodies a sense of claustrophobic loneliness.
Asylum Arcanum is an experience, both visually and audibly, and it often proves to be too-close-for-comfort. However, as dark and disturbing as the past may be, acknowledgement and even reverence for it, has it’s rewards. Five stars outta five.

(Unfortunately, I can't find any info on this book on the internet. Also, I am too drunk to figure out how to upload audio samples.I'm also pretty sure that uploading the text is illegal.  You will be content to gaze into the mediocre photoshop skills which comprise the CD art, and the track list from the sleeve. But the whole thing exists, I swear! Unless... uh oh.)

Shakespeare And Metal: Part I

I recently went to a kick-ass lecture delivered by Sir Christopher Ricks, and it blew my mind.  He's a freaking KNIGHT. And have you seen his credentials? This is an exerpt from the memorandum:

Christopher Ricks is the co-director of the Editorial Institute and the William M. and Sara B. Warren Professorof the Humanities at Boston University, having formerly been professor of English at Bristol and at Cambridge. He is a member of the Association of Literary Scholars, Critics, and Writers, of which he was president (2007-2008). He has edited and also teaches in the Core Curriculum. He was elected Professor of Poetry at Oxford in 2004, and is known both for his critical studies and for his editorial work.

He's a total badass, right? So I made him sign my denim jacket right below Abysmal Dawn's autographs. That was pretty sick. Anyway, so much for introductions. Here's the stoner epiphanies I had that (k)night.

The entire high-octane hellride started out with a monologue from Othello, wherein the titular character eloquates thus:

Soft you; a word or two before you go.

I have done the state some service, and they know't,

No more of that. I pray you, in your letters,

When you shall these unlucky deeds relate,

Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate,

Nor set down aught in malice: then must you speak

Of one that loved not wisely but too well;

Of one not easily jealous, but, being wrought,

Perplex'd in the extreme; of one whose hand,

Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away

Richer than all his tribe; of one whose subdued eyes,

Albeit unused to the melting mood,

Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees

Their medicinal gum. Set you down this;

And say, besides, that in Aleppo once,

Where a malignant and turban'd Turk

Beat a Venetian and traduced the state,

I took by the throat the circumcised dog,

and smote him- thus.

The lecture was not just on Shakespeare, but on T.S Elliot's criticism thereof. To quote Elliot from the essay Shakespeare And The Stoicism Of Seneca, "He is endeavouring to escape reality... Othello succeeds in turning himself into a pathetic figure, by adopting an aesthetic rather than moral attitude, dramatising himself against his environment." This critique was similar to my musings on the psychological aspects of mosh pits. Sometimes the only way to feel better about your situation is to exaggerate it to the point of melodrama.

Such exaggerations may reflect realities that would otherwise remain concealed. For instance, after losing a close friend to cancer, I realized that mosh pits were my only true catharsis. If such a purgation was not a "constructive outlet", it was at least close enough. Similarly, Othello had suffered a loss, and repaired the damage by indulging in a different kind of pain. It's like a spiritual version of "hair of the dog". You take what hurts you and remedy it with a controlled dose. Such is the act of self-dramatization.

At any rate, I appear to be rambling. I adore Sir Christopher Ricks and his brilliant observations, but I don't want to just parrot him.  

I fear plagiarism laws, and I also know that knights tend to be armed to the teeth.

Huh. So that's how knights work.

... Wait, is that how Sabaton really got their name?!

Ahem. Stay tuned for Part II.

Cheryl And Dante's Bogus Journey

For those of you who don't know, I recently had an existential crisis of beastly proportions. My dilemna was this: Is Metal essential to my nature, or is my obsession with the genre accidental, as Aristotle would say? It seemed bleak. After all, the genre has not always existed, therefore it could not possibly be the defining characteristic of any personality. I refuse to accept this. What am I, if not a Metalhead? Do I even have an essence, or just changeable characteristics? I was doubting the very nature of my being, and the conclusions were as fucked up as the questions. My experience was eerily identical to Dante's descent into hell: "Midway upon the journey of our life, I found myself within a forest dark, For the straightforward pathway had been lost." [Inferno, Canto I]  Fortunately, Dante survived his trials like a trooper, thus inspiring me to face my own demons. Dante and I embarked on a figurative sojourn, one that actually made sense after a few margaritas and this bottle of pills I found.

    In the wise words of Dio, Evil is great subject matter. Metalheads all over the world have always been aware of this fact, and of course Dante was the original hesher. We adorn our album covers and lyrics with monsters, corpses, scenes of gore and debauchery. So what could possibly be cooler than Hell itself? Turns out that Hell is interesting, but it's Hell for a reason. There's no fucking music. Even the corny image of angels strumming harps is indicative of inherent superiority to the Inferno. Sure, demon-torture and poetic justice can pique my curiosity, but the Inferno is still the obnoxious Black Metal of afterlives.

     If Hell is the Black Metal of afterlives, then Purgatory is the Prog Metal. It has its moments of awesomeness, and the general idea is to make some sort of progression (duh). But it's not necessarily how I want to spend eternity. Again, I was reminded of my identity crisis. Think about your favorite Prog Rock song. It's pretty good, right? You might even put it on repeat and listen to it for a really long time. But even my favorite jams get tedious after about an hour of hitting the replay button. So if you would get sick of the best music after an hour, how could you possibly endure an eternity of mediocrity? When I admit the possibility that I would ever hate Queensryche, I am clearly not a very good Metalhead. My love of Metal, as I feared, may be an Aristotelian accident. Son of a bitch.

That brings us into Heaven. So far we got Black Metal and Prog Rock, and now what subgenre is Paradise? Dante's psychedelic account of Heaven is reminiscent of the trippy-ass melodic style that characterises bands such as Children Of Bodom... So, I dunno, let's just call it Thrash. Now, we all know that Thrash Metal is anything but boring, yet for some reason no-one is all that intrigued by Heaven. We are more interested in the punishment of the wicked than in the rewards of virtue. I know evil is a great subject, but that's still a little twisted. At any rate, Dante's description of Heaven diminishes the hierarchal structure that had prevailed in both the Inferno and in Purgatory. In Paradise, the self is no longer defined by the position of the soul. I still don't know if I could interpret that in my favor or not.

When describing the human encounter with the divine, Dante insists that "Least and greatest alike gaze into that mirror." [Paradiso, Canto XV] This suggests that there are still personalites, some better and some worse, but they are all doing the same thing. Heaven is not devoid of structure, but it is more of a spectrum than a stage system. At any rate, the self is separated from the ego. My self is my essence, but my ego is the part of me that hates Queensryche after 8 hours of Operation: Mindcrime. When gazing into the mirror, the self you see reflected there is more commensurable with all the other souls in Heaven. You may still be a sentient being, in and of yourself, but you are like a mini-me of the entirety. In otherwords, it's like headbanging in sync with all the other Metalheads at the Amon Amarth concert.

The divinity which individuals experience in paradise is one that necessitates sacrifice. Those who enjoy eternal bliss must be absorbed in something, and dissociate from themselves. Just as an individual can get lost in a favorite song, so can an individual get lost in heaven. Such a person would relinquish all sense of time to get absorbed in the music for as long as it lasts. However, since heaven is eternal, it would be tantamount to losing the self in a neverending song. The reason that people on earth get annoyed when their favorite song is played for 60 consecutive minutes, is that they don’t love it enough. The obnoxiousness of such an experience is internal, not intrinsic in the music. However, the self remains sentient in heaven, and the ego takes a secondary role, thus rendering boredom and annoyance obsolete. Paradise, therefore, embodies a song you would love enough to spend eternity lost in it... Somewhere lost in time, if you will.

Anyway, I still don't know who the hell I am, but at least it turns out that Heaven is tantamount to eternal Metal. But you already knew that, didn't you?