fanatic fandom

My other blog is a BMW. But this is a bandanna-pink Volkswagen Beetle - for flirty frivolous fun and fanatic fandom. This is where i get to play the bimbonic-geek and rave, enthuse, bitch and rant about anything and everything under the sun. Feel free to chip in!

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

two fords and the truth

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Only in America...
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What an amazing concept. Take two brand-new Ford Focus 5-door hatchbacks, throw in one crazy sound designer, a wacky Hollywood film composer, a workshop of possibly insane instrument-makers, 31 mad musicians, a studio of adventuresome recording engineers, back them up with an undisclosed budget, and what do you get? Why, an orchestra of car-part instruments, of course. Playing music that sounds like it was written by a band of extraordinarily musical travelling gypsies enroute to a circus show.
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In a moment of inspired bravado, (or maybe it was just creative genius sparked off by boredom), someone in Ford Motor, or in the advertising company hired by Ford Motor, decided that it would be a good idea to take apart the new Ford Focus and turn the car parts into musical instruments. Real instruments that would be able to play in tune. With names like 'fender bass', 'clutch guitar', 'rear suspension spike fiddle', 'transmission case cello', 'shockbone' and 'door harp'. And, backed by all the financial support that Ford Motor's long history of capitalist exploitation could muster, they proceeded to produce an advertisement featuring original music written specially for the occasion and played on, literally, a car.
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The result is unbelievably beautiful. And, also, fodder for much self-indulgent intellectualising about the car-industry, music, advertising, art, craftsmanship, trust, and truth.
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Trust? Truth? What do these things have to do with a car advertisement? Plenty, if the hype surrounding the ad is anything to go by. Most people, on first seeing the ad, wonder if the instruments are genuine. The automatic assumption is that the musicians are only miming the playing, that the instruments don't really work. We are so used to synthesized music and digitally-enhanced films that we find it difficult to trust that what seems to be happening in the ad is actually happening. What I found particularly interesting were composer Craig Richey's comments on the ad's credibility problem:
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"After losing sleep wondering how good, or bad, it might sound, I was very happy to hear, looking at the first edit, that maybe it sounded too good. And that now maybe there was gonna be a problem of credibility - 'That sounds too good. That can't possibly be a car playing.' You know, there're a few moments in one of the edits where the sync was out slightly from the picture, and my note back to the editor was, 'Yeah, can you tighten up that shot, cos credibility is everything. Even if it's visually out of sync, it's gonna lead the viewer to believe, 'Ah they're not really playing that thing.' So it's kindof ironic, after worrying what the worst scenario could be, to be at the end of the process wondering if we'd done such a good job... that it sounds so good that maybe it isn't gonna be believable."
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So - damned if you do, and damned if you don't. A particularly horrible situation to be in. The problem, really, is that we can't tell what is real anymore. Even if the recording weren't quite so disturbingly good, one could still suspect its authenticity on the grounds that even imperfections can be simulated for the sake of making a fake performance seem more 'real'. We can't even trust the videos of the production process (which show everything from the actual crafting and manufacturing of the instruments to the studio recording - just click on 'Media' and check out the shots of the musicians jamming, and the comments by the sound engineers and producers), because there is always the nagging suspicion that the whole thing is staged, a big hoax designed to generate controversy, publicity and profits for Ford Motor.
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In an era when much of what we know about the world outside our immediate lived reality is mediated through visual and sound images, we never know how much of that mediated information we can really trust. But this problem isn't new. In fact, it is a platitude that had already made it into mainstream Hollywood movies like Wag the Dog (1997) and The Truman Show (1998) a decade ago. The only difference is that now, technological advances have made it even more difficult to distinguish between fact and fiction than it was a decade ago.
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This constant see-sawing between faith and doubt is tiring business. Perhaps it might explain the rise in fundamentalist faith in the world today. (And by 'faith', I don't just mean belief in traditional religions. 'Faith', in my broader definition, includes the belief in things like atheism, Darwinism, democracy, New Age-ism...) People feel the need for something stable to ground their lives on, and a fixed worldview provides a ready answer. Which, in a sense, may not be a bad thing, even if it does then beg the question of whether there is any truth in the conflicting claims made by different worldviews in the first place. But that is a story for another time.
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By the way, at the risk of complete, utter public humiliation, let me just state for the record that I believe that the ad is 'real'. And that I arrived at this conclusion after checking out the various bits of 'evidence' available online (and which I know could always turn out to have been fabricated in a beautifully-orchestrated commercial hoax). No matter. It's not as if I have much of a reputation to protect, anyway. But here are some more links to the bits of evidence I've been able to find, so that you can go look them up and arrive at your own conclusions.
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Monday, February 25, 2008

strange type

We live in a world that is structured, created, in many ways, by language. All those ancient texts, lovingly passed down from generation unto generation. Consider, then, the impact of a single typographical error.

I once saw a comic strip that featured members of an early church council, talking about the prerequisites for the consecrated Christian life.

Church Elder: .... poverty, charity, and obedience...

Scribe (nodding off from the boredom): [writes] ... poverty, chastity, and obedience...

And the rest is history.


Strange Type

I wrote: in the dark cavern of our birth.
The printer had it tavern, which seems better:
But herein lies the subject of our mirth,
Since on the next page death appears as dearth.
So it may be that God's word was distraction,
Which to our strange type appears destruction,
Which is bitter.


(Malcolm Lowry)


Interestingly, the textual history of Lowry's poems is unusually complicated. Even the title of this poem is provisional - it was given by his first editor Earle Birney; Lowry himself left the poem untitled. His second editor, Kathleen Sherf, read the last word as 'better' - but Birney's version reads it as 'bitter', which seems better.
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Monday, February 11, 2008

in the aftermath

After great pain, a formal feeling comes -
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs -
The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
And Yesterday, or Centuries before?

The Feet, mechanical, go round -
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought -
A Wooden way
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone -

This is the Hour of Lead -
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow -
First - Chill - then Stupor - then the letting go -


(Emily Dickinson)
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Saturday, February 09, 2008

requiescat in pace, Ah Meng

From Channelnewsasia.com:
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SINGAPORE: Ah Meng, the Sumatran orang utan that was considered an icon at the Singapore Zoo, died on Friday. She was about 48 years old and had died of old age.
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For some reason, the news saddens me, even though she is after all just an orang utan, and even though i couldn't have seen her more than 5 times in my entire lifetime. Somehow, her name and her face (and yes, orang utans do have identifiable faces) are tied up with memories of childhood, school trips, old gal pals, waffles and root beer at A&W, and a past in which animals had stories and personalities attached to them that mattered almost as much as those of the people who helped to articulate these stories.
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Rest in peace, old gal. You will be missed.
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Friday, February 08, 2008

spreadin' the lurrrve

For all music geeks: happy belated Christmas! :)

Naxos Classical Music Online

For just US$20 a year, you get almost unlimited access to virtually the entire Naxos catalogue, including jazz and the occasional 'world' music on top of the 'classical' repertoire. Via streaming audio, which does mean that you can't download the music, but heck, that's nothing compared to the pleasure of wandering around the wonderland of musical gems and discovering previously-unknown masterworks, all at just a fraction of the price you would have had to pay to attend a concert or buy a CD.

Whatcha waitin' for? Subscribe today!

(Naxos sooooooo needs to put me on their marketing payroll....)

Incidentally, thanks to Naxos Online, i'm now completely head-over-heels in love with Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 4 in G major - specifically, the 1933 recording by pianist Artur Schnabel together with the London Philharmonic Orchestra, conducted by Malcolm Sargent. Ok, i'm not that much of a connoisseur as to be able to tell the difference between various 'good' recordings, and i don't have the musical or critical vocabulary to explain why, but of all the ones i've listened to (both on Naxos and on Amazon), Schnabel's opening to the 1st movement just gets me the most. Go listen - it may just make your day. :)


Edit: 8 March 08

WAIT!!! - don't bother subscribing!!! If you're Singaporean, you can get FREE online access to the Naxos catalogue simply by registering with the National Library Board at www.nlb.gov.sg. There's a whole treasure trove of stuff in the Digital Library - including FREE access to JSTOR, PERIND, and other scholarly databases.

So this is where some of my income tax goes. Ok, I can live with that. :)
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Monday, February 04, 2008

astonishment white as the sun

Honestly, i thought that the poetry-discovering days were over. Not so much because i've stopped believing in the power of literature to effect any good in the world (though that is certainly true), but because i'd thought that i'd already read most of the canonised Good Poets, and that any further encounters would result from friends' recommendations rather than personal exploration.

But yesterday, John Berryman quietly staked his claim to a place in my literary universe.

He's one of those deeply secular writers who somehow find God (or are found by God) against all imaginable odds. In the good company of Graham Greene, Evelyn Waugh, perhaps even TS Eliot (but Eliot's is a less troubled faith). i admit to being fascinated by doubt. Or rather, i am fascinated by faith that exists in spite of doubt, in spite of the individual - faith that has somehow encountered what it knows to be truth, and because of that, cannot not believe.

And i swear i can hear Hopkins somewhere at the back of Berryman's start-stop rhythms, the compression of meaning in some of his lines.

Here's a sample of his late poetry, written in the years just before his death (by suicide - yes, i did say his was a troubled faith).


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from 'Eleven Addresses to the Lord'

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If I say Thy name, art Thou there? It may be so.
Thou art not absent-minded, as I am.
I am so much so I had to give up driving.
You attend, I feel, to the matters of man.

Across the ages certain blessings swarm,
horrors accumulate, the best men fail:
Socrates, Lincoln, Christ mysterious.
Who can search Thee out?

except Isaiah and Pascal, who saw.
I dare not ask that vision, though a piece of it
at last in crisis was vouchsafed me.
I altered then for good, to become yours.

Caretaker! take care, for we run in straits.
Daily, by night, we walk naked to storm,
some threat of wholesale loss, to ruinous fear.
Gift us with long cloaks and adrenaline.

Who haunt the avenues of Angkor Wat
recalling all that prayer, that glory dispersed,
haunt me at the corner of Fifth & Hennepin.
Shield & fresh fountain! Manifester! Even mine.



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Fearful I peer upon the mountain path
where once Your shadow passed. Limner of the clouds
up their phantastic guesses. I am afraid,
I never until now confessed.

I fell back in love with you, Father, for two reasons:
You were good to me, & a delicious author,
rational & passionate. Come on me again,
as twice you came to Azarias and Misael.

President of the brethren, our mild assemblies
inspire, & bother the priest not to be dull;
keep us week-long in order; love my children,
my mother far & ill, far brother, my spouse.

Oil all my turbulence as at Thy dictation
I sweat out my wayward works.
Father Hopkins said the only true literary critic is Christ.
Let me lie down exhausted, content with that.



Vespers

Vanity! hog-vanity, ape-lust
slimed half my blue day, interspersed
soley almost with conversation feared,
difficult, dear, leaned forward toward & savoured,

survivaling between. I have not done well.
Contempt - if even the man be judged sincere -
verging on horror, top a proper portion,
of the poor man in paracme, greeding still.

That's nothing, nothing! For his great commands
have reached me here - to love my enemy
as I love me - which is quite out of the question!
and worse still, to love You with my whole mind -

insufferable & creative addition to Deuteronomy 6 -

Shift! Shift!
................... Frantic I cast about abroad
for avenues of out: Who really this this?
Can all be lost, then? (But some do these things
I flinch from some horrible saints half the happy mornings -

so that's blocked off.) Maybe it's not God's voice
Only Christ's only. (But our Lord is our Lord.
No vent there.) If more's demanded of man than can
man summon, You're unjust. Suppose not. See Jewish history,

tormented & redeemed, millennia later
in Freud & Einstein forcing us sorry & free,
Jerusalem Israeli! flames Anne Frank
a beacon to the Gentiles weltering.

With so great power bitter, so marvellous mild even mercy?
It's not conformable. It must be so.
but I am lost in it, dire Friend. Only I remember
of Solomon's cherubim 'their faces were inward.'

And thro' that veil of blue, & crimson, & linen,
& blue, You brood across forgiveness and
the house fills with a cloud, so that the priests
cannot stand to minister by reason of the cloud.



King David Dances

Aware to the dry throat of the wide hell in the world
O trampling empires, and mine one of them,
and mine one gross desire against His sight
slaughter devising there,
some good behind, ambiguous ahead,
revolted sons, a pierced son, bound to bear,
mid hypocrites amongst idolators,
mockt in abysm by one shallow wife,
with the ponder both of priesthood & of State
heavy upon me, yea,
all the black same I dance my blue head off!
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