So.
The Suburban Howl ended in 2005. My blogs were on MySpace. Now I am back on Blogger, with a new purpose: interrogate the vast amount of data and artwork I consume. Most of it is rock and roll and videogames. Simple, yes? New Game + is one of my favorite bits of videogame culture - a chance to restart a game with some of what you've learned and acquired in the last playthrough. My time in Australia has felt a bit like that - old things encountered in new formats, faced with mistakes honed in a different setting.
More like a sequel then a New Game Plus, then.

So. Rock and roll and videogames. Rock, first. I can live without games.
Yesterday I saw Clutch. They were suburb musicians and each song, though seeming random, was intricately structured. Things built, faded, built again. Lyrics were hard to hear but I knew that on CD they meant something - at one point the singer sang binary code, and I'm sure their fans have decoded it. No image, no pretense - the drummer looked like a fish and every member seemed deformed, physically. They played for 3 hours. There was a fight in the moshpit; the band were a great rock and roll band.

On Thursday I saw The King Brothers, a Japanese band. They were sloppy and ragged. One wore a cowboy hat. The singer stalked around the stage, hurled his microphone in the crowd, ate his microphone, played in the crowd. The sound mix was muddy and I wasn't sure if the band could even play. They were half image, whip-thin Japanese versions of old American music. They were a great rock and roll band.

An artificial dichotomy? Perhaps. You could pick more extreme examples - Stevie Vai and Kiosk or Joe Satriani and the Sex Pistols. Passion vs technique. Image and artifice vs music.

There is no dichotomy. Rock and roll is about passion and about truth and whether that passion and truth is expressed through commitment or insanity it is the same. Clutch didn't play for 3 hours because they didn't care. Their intricate breakdowns and drum solos weren't flipping off the audience in ironic disdain. They WERE their music - everything was focused into the playing. Pure passion. Rock and roll.

The King Brothers acted the part of a band who cared through sloppy playing and adolescent passion. Its an act like the Sex Pistols is an act but what are the miming? People who hurl themselves into the music, who express boredom through screaming and nihlism through violence. Total commitment. Rock and roll, motherfuckers.


Videogames. I recently bought a Playstation 2 and have been collecting old games. I played Timesplitters 2, a shooter made by the team that made Goldeneye. Little touches - the health bars only coming up when you pause, the sound armor makes when 'zipping' on you, bullet hole decals appearing on anything you shoot - connected it to Goldeneye and Perfect Dark. Tiny twinges of nostalgia, like a writer reusing certain phrases or a singer quoting his old riffs. Videogame nostalgia as expressed throug graphics and gameplay - grab the sniper rifle and the silenced pistol and shoot out that security camera like you're James Bond. The loneliness of the spy.

More, later. If you're reading this and you're in Sydney come to my gig at Bar Me on Tuesday. Thanks
posted by Robot Devil at 6:19 PM

 
 
posted by Robot Devil at 6:52 PM

 
 
posted by Robot Devil at 6:51 PM

This is where i live now: MySpace. Home of trendy indie kids, emo fucks, and tons of bands. Bought for half a billion by Fox.
I dunno. there are girls there. The Grates are there. I saw them again. good show.

i post my poems on the blog there. it keeps them organized

my hair is in my eyes. i worry about schnznoprhenia

i'm going to be working more. good for money, not so good for sanity

i didn't become Channel V's Fresh Meat

iTunes is smart enough to cue up an old blues song when it sees someone type 'i like you as a friend' into a chat window. i like it bunches

my wallet broke

right

i worked last night

mostly, i live at MySpace, so if you're checking this it hasn't been updated in ages. dunno why i link to it from MySpace, then

woohoo

i'm trendy

its kinda scary

i've seen a bunch of bands since i last posted. you probably haven't heard of any of them
posted by Robot Devil at 5:40 PM

Fresh Meat - The Channel [V] Hunt For A New Presenter Yep... that's right... i auditioned to be a VJ. Armed with my leather pants, my bloodstained Unshaven Chi 'I'm Nobody Famous, DAMMIT!' shirt, and 4 hours sleep, i braved the red light wonderland of the Eastern Hotel, hanging out with various DJs, aspiring actors, and museos... all for a shot at minor cable TV fame and the chance to chat up favorite bands (and promote some really crappy ones).
they asked me to record a promo. I said the script and yelled ROCK AND ROLL WILL NEVER DIE! They like it; asked why I should be on TV i mentioned my hat and they did a zoom in on it. Later on, at the audition, i was put on the spot; but my mind was racing and I was gold. They asked my hidden talent; I said 'i can talk about everything and anything'. I realized i made a mistake, but they asked about comedic theater and I did a quick name drop of Aristophenes' 'The Birds' up to Neil Simon's 'Odd Couple'. Asked for a funny story; told about being trapped in a lift with a bunch of rock and roll fuckups (the play based on it got a good grade! woohoo!). Asked about what superhero I am; said I'm Spider-Man 'cause i'm lame most of the time, but cool when going to gigs.

Dorky answer, but its true-- last Saturday (on 3 hours of sleep and after touring an Aussie medical nuclear research facility I took a very cool American girl around the sitting; saw Jo from Terrapin play and introduced them. I am cool; i Know the City; I Know the People.

Its 1:30am ona Friday. Due to a sleep schedule that's beyond fucked up, I'm at home instead of out. Not good; not good at all. Tomorrow I may go out; next week is, again, The Grates. I must write; you will see the results. I'm relying more on personality and quick speech.

I'm weary/leery of writing here. Suffice it to say i had a fantastic time with the American; she is gone and there is nothing I can do about it. She builds robots. Real ones. Robots and science and particle accelerators (such as a I saw at ANSTO) make me feel like i'm 9 years old; I want to zoom on rocket sleds, escape into the collective unconsciousness; the neon jazz fusion cityscape.
I want to dance.
I want to deny the moon and dance on electric razorblades.
I want to dance.
I want light spilling out of guitars; i want to climb to heaven on a stair of notes and tip the barmaid a twenty
i want Miles Davis to play forever

i want to be out

i want to be real

i want to always look as hot as I do in this photo (i'm the one on the far right):


posted by Robot Devil at 1:20 AM

Another Friday, another rage. I love rage; its just music videos. Good ones, usually, chosen by guest programmers on Saturday and... someone else on Friday. Videos by actual musicians, often local... so i can see whoever i've seen that night with special effects (yeah, SFX. Musicians tend to have friends with Digital Media degrees). Its government sponsored (though not the station I work for) and there's no MTV bullshit, no much overplayed; just music.
I didn't go out tonight. Its been one of those annoying Fridays, the ones where I'm going to go out but have no compelling reason to, no band to see or friend to meet, so I just... hang out. Procrastinate. Eventually fall asleep.
Its sad, sometimes.
I finished a play last night, waiting until the very last minute to shit out some bullshit about being trapped in a lift with gig friends. It was interesting when it happened; people were yelling and cutting each other and I was panicing and calling dad. Afterwards we sat on the room of a King's Cross apartment, jumped into a pool with our clothes, and bullshitted while local museos sung Vines songs. It was, on balance, a good night.
The play's... bullshit. Stuff like my theory about the White Stripes (no, i don't have the new album yet) being robots controlled by crack addicted midgets. I forumlated this after someone who looked vaguely like Meg White at Homebake two years ago. Such are the persuits of my bored mind.
Its.. .nothing. Its a final assignment thats nothing, squeezed out at 5am after wasting time so I'd do it, accompanied by an explanation thats more like an apology. The self-loathing piles up.
Last weekend I went out for three nights in a row-- university dance, goth club, and dance club. Unfamilar music but good friends, and any excuse to dress nicely and dance is a good excuse.
I'm involved in a project now; working on writing something for a local Youth Theatre that will eventually become an opera based on William S Burroughs, toxicity, the body, and all that fun stuff. I go to junkyards and sewage treatment plants for research; its fun. I write a bunch when somebody tells me to; it is good.
I need to focus myself; my life is entering a better stage. i'm feeling less myself, but a semester of university just ended; my contract at work has been renewed. I have friends, people who give a shit. I dance.

things are good; things are transitional. Its winter here, and it isn't really cold

posted by Robot Devil at 1:36 AM

Stayed up late again; tired today. Missed seeing The Whitlams; my friend had a ticket. Got a bit of work/note taking/organization done, so it wasn't a complete loss. Been going through my old writing to submit it to a literary magazine; its better then i expected. Wish me luck.

Found this bit I wrote for my friend Lauren ages ago. It was Bob Dylan's birthday on Tuesday; i used to write poems of praise for him on that day.
I recited my Milton today. Went well.

'I wish i could write you a melody so plain
To hold you, dear lady, from going insane' -Bob Dylan

But i've got nothing in me ta free ya from the chaos
Only the vision of the multitude contained within

All those pagan passions an the crying for release
Ride 'till the end 'cause i wish i had the same
You don't have problems, babe, you've just got a past
An a bag of good stories even if they don't last

There's always some him or some mythical her
Forget them all; you're you and you're all
I'm not much of a rhymer, but i know just enough
To tell you to calm down an stop acting so tough

Just curl up, babe, let it all wander away
You contain multitudes; you've got so much to say
posted by Robot Devil at 12:56 AM

Another 1001 poem today; just wrote it. The last two poems were performed, though I didn't see them. I find this spontaneity good and easy, and the incantatory nature of the words fits me well. I could make a habit of this, and if it really runs 1001 nights I should be able to assemble my own body of work (and, I think, I own the copywrite). As for the normal blog stuff... today was... today. Yesterday I stayed up too late; today I tried to do some work, tried to take some notes, won at triva (I know that T.S. Eliot wrote The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock and that Dail was a Spanish surrealist. woohoo), and saw a performance of music made from modified electronic toys. It was entertaining; done by students who trained with the Toydeath guy. Nothing horrible, nothing too good, and I got to play with Hulk hands. Seems like something I'd like to try, maybe as an RPG idea... much of my life seems filtered through roleplaying games lately, due to too much lurking on RPG.net. The games I play are modern ones, though, so its less horrible "eee! I can slay the dragon with my +5 sword of dorkiness!" and more "man, learning Noam Chomsky's linguistic theories are a bit boring as learned in Linguistics class, but there's a bit in the Mage books that points to them as sources of power, so that could be cool to play or even "yes, my next Unknown Armies character is going to turn toys into musical instruments... for some evil reason! muahahahaha!"

Yes, its dorky, but its something to occupy my mind. When you spend all your class time talking about language and literature and all your work time alone in a strange TV station, you need something to give it an extra... spice. Besides, i'm not a dork! I go to concerts! I'm even skipping Mage tonight to do work... work I haven't actually done, sure, but its the thought that counts. Political language essay, plus some wonderful lines to memorizefrom Book 1 of Milton's epic Paradise Lost.

During trivia, I realized i'm useless outside the areas of music and literature. I am not sure if I am happy about it, but I take a certain perverse pride in it. As Wilde said (and knowing this got me another point in trivia), "we should treat all the trivial things seriously, and the serious things in life with sincere and studied triviality."
(he also said that "A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world." That isn't quoted as much, and since i'm a daysleeper twice a week it works on several levels.


And now... today's poem (mine):

no room for fear in the eyes of the blind
or the halls of the dead where the lost ones wander
no room for fear in the ears of the damned
or the hall of the living where the hollow men lie

no room for the fear when the sea is pounding
and the waves are swallowing all of the lies
no room for fear when you're pushed to the limit
and the monsters are swamping the decks

no room for fear in the modern age
or the screens that eat up all thought
choke off your fear as they hold down your eyes
cut off the fear at the back of your throat

no room for fear the times are all ending
if we let the fear in they'll be room for none else
no room for fear in the toaster's reflection
or your wife's makeup as she sits on the shelf

no room for fear at the back of your laughter
or pulled back at the edge of your eyes
no room for fear in the whirls of your ear
or the tears you won't dare cry

no room for fear under your veil
just a slit for your eyes
and no room for fear at the site of the dead
or the wailing and gnashing of unfrozen lies



(and the Milton I need to memoirze, self-chosen from all the poem):

Is this the Region, this the Soil, the Clime,
Said then the lost Arch-Angel, this the seat
That we must change for Heav'n, this mournful gloom
For that celestial light? Be it so, since he [ 245 ]
Who now is Sovran can dispose and bid
What shall be right: fardest from him is best
Whom reason hath equald, force hath made supream
Above his equals. Farewel happy Fields
Where Joy for ever dwells: Hail horrours, hail [ 250 ]
Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell
Receive thy new Possessor: One who brings
A mind not to be chang'd by Place or Time.
The mind is its own place, and in it self
Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n. [ 255 ]
What matter where, if I be still the same,
And what I should be, all but less then he
Whom Thunder hath made greater? Here at least
We shall be free; th' Almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence: [ 260 ]
Here we may reign secure, and in my choyce
To reign is worth ambition though in Hell:
Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heav'n.
But wherefore let we then our faithful friends,
Th' associates and copartners of our loss [ 265 ]
Lye thus astonisht on th' oblivious Pool,
And call them not to share with us their part
In this unhappy Mansion, or once more
With rallied Arms to try what may be yet
Regaind in Heav'n, or what more lost in Hell? [ 270 ]
posted by Robot Devil at 11:58 PM