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Pattern and Variation and Pattern Again…

I used to enjoy following the NCAA tournament, and also pro basketball and pro baseball, and hockey and football, to a lesser degree, and by “follow” I mean the way other people might follow the twists and turns of a soap opera. It’s funny how many men I know bristle when I compare pro sports to soap operas, usually after listening to someone express great outrage at a recent coaching change or some other bit of arcana, followed by a genealogy of all the coaches team X has ever head, their various and sundry vices and virtues, and then, depending on levels of inebriation, a tear or two for days and coaches gone by. I never followed sports to the degree that true fans do, but I took some pleasure in following story lines, reading stats in the paper, and putting games on TV with the sound down while I did other things. But I seem to have lost almost all capacity for following sports this way: I forgot the super bowl was on, and wasn’t interested anyhow; I will probably watch some of the final four of the NCAA tournament, but last year I tried that and couldn’t pay attention for the life of me; I will likely watch at least some of the World Series, if only because of One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest; and I will keep up with the drama of the Bills and Sabres by osmosis, because their story lines drift through the air in Western NY like plankton–but basically whatever it was held my interest in sports before is gone. I watched some of the Olympics, and really liked curling (perhaps because it requires very little of your attention to watch?), but was never particularly engaged. I am attributing at least some of my waning sports-watching ability to pattern satiation, which I’m using to mean something  like semantic satiation but for rule-bound, integrated visual and conceptual phenomena: the visual patterns of a baseball game, for example, are predictable within a set of rules, and pleasing because they are predictable, and are furthermore integrated with other conceptual patterns, like the “how are the small-market Pirates going to do this year” narrative arc, creating a series of patterns meant to involve fans on as many cognitive levels as possible. And, I have grown so used to the patterns at this point that I am experiencing something like semantic satiation, in as much as the experience of watching a sporting event is strangely meaningless, I am inhibited from giving meaning to, for example, someone shooting a basketball through the hoop. Part of my mind knows what this means, knows the rules that define it, but I can’t connect that aspect of knowing with the part that makes it mean something more to me. Oh well, more time to listen to all these CDs, I guess.

251) Johnny Guitar Watson: Ain’t That a Bitch

Aside from the completely offensive cover, and the fact that Johnny can’t sing on key to save is life, this is a fun CD; three of the seven songs have “baby” in the title. Noting that JGW is a crappy singer makes more devoted fans of his upset, but since it’s impossible to argue, they usually just shake their heads and look at the floor.

252) Dr.Demento: The Very Best Of

I wasn’t sure I would be able to sit through this, but I really enjoyed it, actually, probably because there’s only one Weird Al Yankovic song, and two by Zappa… I even laughed out loud a bunch of times, like when this one came on:

253) New Order: Substance

I still love these songs, no pattern satiation here, despite having heard most of them for 20+ years in various discos, house parties, headphones, and in a panoply of cover versions. Danceable–you can feel, rather than listen, if you choose–but also well-written and arranged in curious ways, so you can also listen, if you don’t feel like dancing, and still feel stimulated.

254) The Meters: Good Old Funky Music

I’ve had this CD for at least 20 years… and I do believe everything I said about Substance holds true for this recording too, danceable but interesting even when just lieing on the couch. Zigaboo Modeliste!

255) Van Morrison: Avalon Sunset

This year’s annual Van Morrison CD purchase has several great songs, a few duds, and the kind of flat, bubble-squeak production that characterized a lot of Van’s work from the 1980’s. Still, lifeless production can’t drain all the joy out of songs like “When Will I Ever Learn To Live In God,” or “Coney Island”…

Interruptus…

Reading Art Without Borders (Scharfstein), but I can’t continue until I copy out this quoted bit from Henry Glassie:

It is another message of folk art that creativity need not lead to the destruction of norms. It can be dedicated to the perfection of things as they stand. . . .Art is our birthright. We are stuck here. Alone, one by one, we are born and die. We are members of groups without which we could not survive our first day. From them we learn. To them we return our learning. And all the time beyond us flows and cracks, without question, a power not ours that we can bend but not master. Art is the way we come to grips with this and make it visible, comprehensible. Born into this mumbo jumbo world, we have a right to make art, and I call conditions good that enable us to be artists, and I condemn conditions that steal art from us. Art is the way we achieve our humanity. The enemies of art are the enemies of humankind. If they say art is a privilege of the rare talented few or the possession of prosperous white men, I say they act criminally toward their kind.

(The Spirit of Folk Art)

So, that’s why I had to stop reading for a minute and try and figure out who is on either side of that divide, since much of popular culture is not a gift of art but a theft of our own artistic determination, and of course, of our money. To my mind, when a cloud of anonymous shareholders is the determining factor in what sort of pap is thrust into the brainpans  of the public, then of course you end up with an audience trained to respond like anonymous wisps of cloud. Too many people have had their own creativity diminished, their own art stolen, by the very institutions that claim they are simply giving the audience what they want; creativity is reduced to swapping the semiotic coin of the realm with peers, chatting in some version of corporatese about the mascara sale at Eckerds, why football is great and soccer is boring, if Lady Gaga has a penis, and why the new Facebook layout sucks. But these are not sufficient, not even close, and so people grow into themselves or explode, or both.

246) Deftones: White Pony

I was so hoping they were going to cover this:

but oh well. Good anyway, nice turns and twists and most are for the sake of the song, not just to be twisty.

247) Verdi: Aida

Apparently someone made a rock opera of this Verdi monolith, Disney, I think, and then Elton John wrote the music… christ, why? is the first thing that comes to mind, then I remember that it’s Disney, in the age of regurgitation, and move on.

248) Mose Allison: The Best of Mose Allison

So damn likeable it’s almost unlikeable, but not quite, and so is fab, and I might just stick this one back in the pile so I get to listen to it a again in a few months.

249) Pamela Lucia: Into Outer Space With Pamela Lucia

Yes. Thanks, Pamela. See you there.

250) Pan Assembly: Hot Steel Music

Steel drums, that is, though there is a version of  “Iron Man” here. A good soca, and “Pan In Yuh,” which is apparently a steel drum band standard. A serious din.