What Is Rock? (Part 1)

This post is the first in an ongoing series in which I will explore rock music and it's related culture. I've asked some blogging friends to write a piece on the topic, "What is Rock?" and will post their pieces here. Our first guest is Laura Bee, a tattoo artist in Northern California.

This was not my parents' music.

I believe it was 1975, the year before everything was issued in red, white and blue that I got my first "stereo" for christmas. Until that time, what we all had were "record players" which were turntables with speakers built right into a suitcase-like box with latches to hold the lid on and a handle for carrying. A record player had three speeds, 33, 45 and 78. 78 was real slow and amusing to play songs on for a while, but I've never seen a disk that was intended to play at that speed. 45s are small records with one song on each side, and a much larger hole than the silver nipple that fits perfectly into an album, and requires a plastic disk or careful placement to center perfectly to play. You have to listen to a couple of seconds of scratch silence at the beginning before you get your music, and when you're a kid you're less and less careful with the records, stacking them without their sleeves until the scratches run through the whole tune. As a kid you listened to what your parents bought, and the sound of "California Dreamin'" or "Monday Monday" will still bring back the smell of cooking Creepy Crawlers, a childrens' toy that was used to make rubber bugs. You poured "Goop" into a metal mold and put it into a really hot tray to cook them. That toy would in no way be considered safe or acceptable for kids to play with these days, but the smell was divine and is forever attached to the sound of the Mamas and the Papas weaving harmonies for me.

When Dottie got a modern piece of furniture that was a cross between a dresser and a record player I inherited hers from when she was in high school, two toned blue and smelling like the back seat of my grandmother's red Mercury. I was pretty young then, and would listen to whatever disk was available. Occasionally I would get to choose a new 45 at the store, I remember Michael Jackson's ABC, with some other song on the B side. The B side was never as good on a 45, maybe you played it, maybe you didn't. Little girls had a choice between Donny Osmond and Michael Jackson back then, and I always preferred Michael Jackson, even though he was black and "black music" wasn't supposed to be for us. I liked him when he was black, but don't mourn him today.

My new and modern stereo was molded from white plastic, with cylindrical slotted speakers that were separated from the turn table by wires, and you were supposed to set them as far apart as possible. You pushed a button and it would move the arm automatically to the beginning of the record, instead of having to do it yourself. I also received an album they chose for me. "Deep Purple, Machine Head" because "Laura, we know how much you love purple. This was not my parents music. They had no idea what it wold sound like, they picked it for it's name. Smoke on the Water was the song the radio chose as the big tune from that album, but Lazy, and Highway Star were the two tracks that would transport me, take me to some other place. After smoking some good brown 70s pot I could lay on my back and let the majesty of Lazy roll over me, and I swear I could see the music. Those big dramatic opening notes on the organ, that sound so different when the speakers are as far apart as the cords will allow for, the slow build, the big-rock-finish. Who had ever heard of a song that went for 7 minutes and 19 seconds before? All songs were two minutes and change for me, before that time. I had that one album for the longest time and would listen to it over and over.

The first album I purchased for myself was Smokin', by Humble Pie. I can still remember how the song 30 days in the Hole moved me in a way that music never really had. I was an avid yet indiscriminate audiophile from that minute forward. I'm not even sure music was divided into genre at that point, it was just music you liked and your parents hated. "Turn that down!" became the anthem of all parents everywhere. Kids would all converge on one house with their best albums and playing music WAS what we were doing, not something you did in the background of other activities.

My dad worked at Angel Stadium in Anaheim, and I wasn't allowed to go to concerts for a while, he saw first hand the kinds of things that went on there and there was no way they were letting me anywhere near that. I remember my ninth grade summer when the big concert everyone was going to was Peter Frampton, and I wanted to go so bad... Dottie was leaving another crazy husband and we were stuck in traffic right by the stadium long enough to hear a few songs, and I knew all my friends were in there. How I hated her for her crazy life, how bad I wanted to be in there feeling like Peter felt. I looked at her and declared that next time I was going.

"Next time" was KISS, and I went alright. I went to every other concert that summer, and it's all lumped into one long show. Ted Nugent, Bob Seger, Aerosmith, The Beach Boys and the band that would become my own personal band forever more: Pink Floyd. It was the Animals tour, but they played the whole Dark Side of the Moon album as their second set. I've seen them do Animals, Momentary Lapse of Reason, Division Bell, and the greatest concert of all time The Wall (there were only 17 US tour dates, one of which was in LA on my 18th birthday) I still have the T shirt from that concert, and Molly wants it, and won't get it until I die.

I saw the Rolling Stones "Some Girls" tour in 1978, with Prince, but I took too much acid and was just slightly embarrassed for everyone and thought the whole stadium was looking at me.

This was music your parents hated, music to get high to, music that always needed to be turned up as loud as possible, but was always met with demands to "turn it down, for God's sake that's not even music!" It was perfect. Joy Power was the Led Zeplin expert at my school, and one christmas I asked my dad for every 8 track they had ever put out. 8 track was cool and portable, if a little less accurate for finding exact songs, like four parallel universes and you had to learn that if this song was playing on track two the one you wanted would be starting on track 4. Or you could put one on, and it would play for as many days as you let it until you changed it to something else. He also bought me a battery operated portable player called a DynoMITE! which looked like the thing you would use to set off an explosion with, plunger to change tracks. I carried all those 8 tracks and that big bulky player in a backpack with me every where I went, and it was the summer of LSD and Led Zeplin for me. Molly laughs so hard when I tell her that story, she with her 32G iPod that holds more songs than we ever knew existed.

It seems to me now that the method for playing music would expand how much different music was in my life with each jump in technology. Cassette tapes were even smaller than 8 tracks, and then Molly's dad played me my first music on CD, which sounded clearer and more immediate than any other delivery system. I skipped the entire 80s in music, I was wearing denim and Birkenstocks, and having babies at home; breast-feeding and eating vegetarian. There was no Duran Duran for me, or Depeche Mode, and I thought everything on MTV was stupid.

I remember one day working as a bar-tender on the afternoon shift when the busboy Philip brought in this cassette, already cued up to a song, and said "There's no one but you and me here, put this on and turn it up, WAY up." The first soaring notes of Guns and Roses "Sweet Child of Mine" rolled out of the bar speakers and time stopped. I had a definite GnR period of my life, and Molly was conceived to one of their songs, although I couldn't tell you exactly which one.

I also remember the first listen of Nirvana "Smells like Teen Spirit" affecting me the same way. Molly had the poster from that, the naked baby in the pool over her bed when she was really little, she loved that picture, she could see his pee pee. I remember one day my friend Jaima's daughter Ryanda looked under her bed and asked "Mom, what are all those big black CDs under your bed for?"

When I was serving my tattoo apprenticeship almost 20 years ago this girl I worked with named Deana had a cassette of this guy talking. I thought he was so funny and intelligent and I would listen to it over and over. His name was Henry Rollins* and it wasn't till years later I found out he had been in a band called Black Flag and then moved on to his own Rollins Band. I was angry and hating my marriage to a die-hard James Taylor/John denver/Dan Foglegerg musician, and Rollins Band was the perfect sound track for my discontent.

I am no music historian, you know, one of those people who knows every musician and every album, and what year this guitar player joined the band and the year that drummer died. For me Rock is a way to remember where I was in my life, and is somehow also connected to the way we listened to it. The album, 8 track, cassette, CD and digital periods of my life.

I haven't been in a music store for years now, I go to iTunes and download the tracks I want, or sometimes whole albums, which are still called albums even if they no longer appear on vinyl. It also marks my own aging, because it has moved beyond me in a way. My son Paul loves Swedish Black Death Metal, and the stuff he writes and plays on his guitar, while amazing is just hardly music and more of a display of skill to me. I often wish he'd turn it down.

Music is the sound track and a timeline for my life, and often a certain song reminds me of exactly where I was when I heard it for the first time, or listened to it regularly, or what was my favorite drug right then. Andrew swears you can tell the values and desires of any culture or sub-culture by listening to the lyrics of it's music. I think for the majority of my era of learning to love music the message was "I reject your values, I am rebellion personnified , I want to rock and roll all night, and party every day."

Now that I'm old, you'll find me at an Indigo Girls concert (I AM the third Indigo Girl, by the way) or playing the shit out of Lilith Fair 98, or I did until it was taken away from me for over-play. Rock has moved beyond me and I like pretty things. It's a natural progression I suppose, but I'm not so sure how much I like the idea. I hate hearing my mother's words come out of my mouth:

"Could you turn that down?"

*Henry was born in the same week of the same year as me, and for a long time I was sure we were soul mates, destined to be together forever. When I finally met him, he not only didn't love me, he didn't even like me. I'm still getting over it to this day. I took Michael to see him do spoken word, but had already explained our relationship to him, so he wasn't jealous.

Mall Baldwin

Fuck the mall. Like, really, that joint makes me feel so uncomfortable. I admit: it's cool in the summertime, and ours actually has an ice skating rink, but in general, fuck the mall. When it's hot, though, all I want to eat are sandwiches, sushi and smoothies. The closest place to us to get smoothies is, needless to say, the mall. So we go sometimes in the summer. I am often cavalier when we consider the trip, thinking it won't be so bad this time, and the reward (Jamba!) is totally worth it. Each time I underestimate the sheer retail greasiness of the mall, and actually walking into the place usually makes Dana and I gasp and hold onto each other.

One day we were on our way to get smoothies, and a guy stepped to us from near the bike rack. We were both mildly taken aback, as this guy was quite forward, and looked like a Baldwin brother. Making friends is my superpower, and it's not really something I can turn off, so strangers stepping to me on the street and beginning conversations is actually quite a regular occurrence. I engaged this guy, Dana next to me, and listened to what he had to say. At first he was like, "hey, how are you, nice day, huh?" but within a minute he had moved onto, "I'm looking for a place to stay." I feel Dana's spidey sense go off by my side, and I know to trust that signal, so I start verbally disengaging while we turned to walk away. I point him to the local Y, and he asks for our home address so he can come talk to us more about it later. The mall quickly becomes our refuge as we walk inside, never to see Mall Baldwin again (we hope).

Dana, a fearless and confident navigator, makes a beeline for the smoothie place. We watch the people go about their mall business as we wait for our drinks and feel happy that we have somewhere else to go. I loved the mall when I was 16 (sup, South Hills Village?) , but that's what was going on in the suburbs at the time. Here in the city we're lucky to have local businesses to serve most of our needs, so the mall seems excessive and impersonal to me (even if I can get samples of 3 different versions of "orange chicken" for free within 100 feet). When our smoothies were ready we retraced our path back to the entrance. Wouldn't you know it? There's Mall Baldwin in about the same spot we left him, only this time surrounded by cops, and about to be led off.

I've seen Mall Baldwin around town a few times, once weaving the wrong way down the street on a bicycle, but thankfully I've not had another conversation with him. We've got some colorful characters in this town, and I'm sure he's a nice enough person all in all. Nevertheless, I think I might work extra hard to avoid the mall this summer. If you see Mall Baldwin, (can't miss him: piercing eyes, strong jaw, goofy grin) tell him I said hi, but please don't tell him where I live.

Michael Jackson

The bassline of "Bad" comes on, and the first thing I think of is Weird Al. To me, this says that he is as deeply ingrained into American culture as the Beatles. As strongly as I associate him with the 80s, I always thought we'd watch him grow into a quirky old man. His life story reminds me that despite monotheistic traditions dominating the plant, all of us are still happy to sacrifice live humans to the gods of art.

And Ah! The Art! The Music! The Dance! He is the fulfillment of the promise of soul, the destroyer of rock's unshakable cool. Who among us has not seen (or been) a denim-and-mullet-wearing, cheap-beer-sipping, white-as-mayonnaise rocker grabbing his crotch, pointing and screaming, "Yee-hee?" I love him in spite of myself. He makes me dance every time, and I can't help it.

When I play a Fatboy Slim song at a party, my wife comes to dance with me. When I play one of his songs at a party, all the women come to dance with me. Then the hetero men follow, striking a pose and proclaiming to anyone who will listen, "I'm not gay!" (I know you're thinking, "Where are all the actual gay men, then?" They, of course, had been dancing with me ever since I played "Grace Kelly.")

When he dances, though, I can't watch anything else. Nobody dances like he does: even imitators look like imitators. He looks like he had moves in utero. His body manifests music like tornadoes manifest wind. He baffled me to watch: angular but loose, often too fast for me to count the spins. In non-posed photos he always looked so shy, hidden behind hair and glasses and masks, but on stage he opened, expressed, connected. I never saw him live, but on video he seems to enlighten the crowd: not just capturing the attention but radiating the love of his fans in the way that only a masterful live performer can.

Like a lot of us, I am revisiting his music tonight. He sounds insecure, flawed and embarrassingly hopeful to me. I confess I am not that sad right now. I think he was quite an unhappy man, and probably quite a lonely one. I also think he'd made the art he was supposed to make. The music alone is a lifetime's worth of art. Really, though, I'm not that sad, because he lives on: we dance, and we will keep dancing. Therefore, in the end, I say what I say whenever I get the chance to meet a musician whose music has touched me: Thank you. That was an awesome performance.

On Marriage and Partnership

This solstice, Dana and I celebrated our 6th wedding anniversary. In my heart I've been married to Dana since February of 2001, but the party we threw on June 21, 2003 was powerful event, and worthy of commemorating. I can honestly still feel the energy of those three days echoing in our daily lives.

Marriage is hard. I think a lot of other folks who are or have been married would agree. It takes daily service, sacrifice and compromise. There are countless benefits to marriage, and I've read some science that says marrying the right person can be a giant factor in lifelong happiness. I'm no expert, but I do take my marriage seriously, and I've learned a lot of good lessons from other non-expert friends.

The legal marriage in which I currently participate is an unjust and discriminatory institution. It is absolutely immoral and a violation of basic human rights that American laws deny legal marriage to same-sex couples. Therefore, for the sake of this discussion and in honor of all same-sex couples, I reject the American legal definition of marriage, and I substitute this one: Marriage is the ongoing act of staying in love. This is hard work, and is very, very different from falling in love. Falling in love is mostly chemical, instinctual and situational, while staying in love is practical, challenging and dynamic. For Dana and I, staying in love takes an artistic balance between independence and communication. It takes independence for us to each be out in our communities, serving and being served, and thereby growing as individuals. It takes communication for us to be able to come back together to share what we've learned. This is where intimacy and trust come in, because they allow us to process our days (yes, communication is a daily practice) sincerely. When done well, this gives both Dana and I a stereoscopic view of our lives, and validates our individual growth. This part's hard: intimacy and trust take courage, and the willingness to try again when we mess up (and messing up with my wife HURTS).

Partnership, though. That part's easy, and for this I count Dana and I very, very lucky. We like the same kind of movies and the same kind of vacations (psychological horror and outdoor adventures). We both believe in leftist politics and are very religiously tolerant. All that's just icing on the cake, though. Partnership is easy because Dana and I can stand to be around each other for a very long time. That's the magic, and it's the part I completely can't explain. I like her more today than I did the day I met her, and I find her more and more interesting every day. Although she and I both have alone time built into our schedules, we still haven't found a limit for how long we want to hang out. This magic is worth the world to me, and around it we build a very happy marriage. The marriage itself is far from perfect (we fight about money and sex, just like all of you), but the love at the center of it all IS perfect, and that is more than enough for me.

We went this weekend and backpacked into southern Washington, near the Cowlitz river. It was muddy and about 20 degrees cooler than expected; there were mosquitoes and teenagers (seriously, like 30 of them on the trail). We loved every minute of it. Why? The forest was virgin, and had trees in every state from sprouting to great and tall to rotting piles indistinguishable from the dirt. This is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. The air is rich and fragrant, and the mushrooms and witches' butter are bright oranges and yellows against the million shades of green and brown. And Dana and I were together, with everything we needed on our backs.

This is, of course, how we met: backpacking the summer I was 15, she 14. On that trip, I fell in love with her strength and sense of adventure, her self-reliance and obvious love for her friends. We ate a fish we caught ourselves for dinner (the rest of our crew was pretty squeamish about this), and we walked and talked a lot, never getting sick of one another. Our best days are still like that: adventure, play, companionship.

So marriage is hard, but partnership is easy. I stay in a constant state of gratitude for this. With just partnership, and never the challenge of marriage, we might never be inspired to grow personally. Without partnership, the sacrifices of marriage might not worth it. As a very rich man, I serve and am served by both marriage and partnership daily. I intend to die peacefully in my sleep, old and in bed with my wife, and that is the strongest, most sincere way I know to say, "I Love You!"

Isis and Helms Alee show commentary

I've been looking forward to this show for a while. Isis is a really mighty band, very smart and consciously expressive. I've always loved that they're heavy and intense without ever sounding aggressive or hateful. To me, this really puts them at the forefront of non-mainstream metal.

The Hawthorne Theater here in Portland has a lot of cool metal shows, a great staff, and pretty good sound. What they don't have is any sensibility about lighting. Legend has it that Sunn O))) played there last year, and the venue left the house lights on the entire time, pretty much destroying the whole vibe of the show. I feel like last night's performance suffered in the same way: the house lights were too bright, which took away from my ability to trance out to this music.

Regardless, the music was fantastic. I missed the first band, Mammifer, and I'm sorry for that. The second band, Helms Alee, is a personal favorite of mine. Helms Alee is signed to Hydra Head, and has one full-length out. I was lucky enough to see them a few weeks ago, headlining a tiny show at the East End. That night they were properly magical, and their really powerful and melodic sound was in full effect. Last night, in a much larger but less densely packed environment, the band seemed to have to work for it for the first few songs. However, after an opening salvo of songs from their album, "Night Terrors," the band played some material with which I was not familiar. I honestly hope this is new stuff that they're working on, because the songs I hadn't heard before were my favorites of the whole performance.

A quick note about this band. They are BEAUTIFUL, which makes them a joy to watch. Ben the guitarist is a classic northwest post-punk rocker with a face-hiding head of hair and a sing/scream dichotomy that would make Cobain proud. Dana the bassist is an exotic beauty with deep-set eyes and long black curls. Hoz the drummer is an all american woman with all the blissful facial expressions that make live rock drumming such a great spectator sport. The best part is: they all sing. They each sing parts, and then they trade two-part harmonies. The male-female dynamic in the vocals is probably my favorite feature of this band, and I really look forward to hearing where they take it in the future.

Isis came on stage like ten minutes early. Isis fans know that's really only like one extra song, but it's a nice gift from the band, I think. They played for a full hour and a half, including one encore, and focused heavily on songs from the new album, "Wavering Radiant". It was clear that the crowd was unfamiliar with most of this most recent stuff, but it was definitely in the style we've come to expect from this band, and it sounded great. They played a bunch of songs from "In the Absence of Truth" as well, and the audience loved these jams. The oldest song they played was fan favorite "The Beginning and the End," which was properly anthemic. What I really loved about this performance was the way the way the band really took their time to let the music build. I mean, clearly the music is written to be slow, ambient, and colorfully punctuated, but when performed live the effect is very meditative.

Which reminds me, I definitely love metal crowds. I generally wear the uniform to these shows: jeans and a t-shirt of a band that is not playing that evening. I'm not going to front: it makes me feel cool to be down with these relatively underground bands, and the t-shirts are how we let others know we're down. Most other folks there were in some variation of the uniform. I saw people aged 15 or so to at least 50, including one middle aged couple sporting Tool and Layne Staley Tribute t-shirts. The show was also full of many couples engaged in enough PDA to make the senior class of 2009 blush. I guess Isis is one of those metal bands that attracts relatively more women, which I think is pretty cool. It was great to see both head-banging and slow-dancing (seriously, like prom style with both people facing the band) going on simultaneously.

The diversity of the crowd is a testament to the Isis's well-deserved elder statesmen status. Truth be told, I could have watched them play for more like three hours. They're a really fantastic band, and I'm glad I got to see them last night.

Big Business show commentary

Note: I apologize for the delay between writing this and posting it. I wrote it late Saturday night after the show, and am posting this Monday evening. Enjoy the present... tense.

Regardless of the fact that I'm half-drunk and half-stoned, tonight's Big Business show was awesome. I've never been to Dante's, the very Portland venue before, but I've been a fan of Big Business for a while. Despite my fandom, I didn't have very high hopes for the show tonight. Their low-end attack is so strong that I wasn't sure it would hold up in a small venue, but the sound folks at Dante's did us well tonight. I thought the vocals were lost in the mix a bit, but I didn't come for the vocals. I came for the drums, and drums I got. Tonight's show was all about drum performances; the strings and vocals were the accompaniment.

Tweak Bird is a 2-piece in the tradition of the Spinanes and Big Business themselves. They grinned, rocked, sang falsetto, and obviously had a great time tonight. They had the crowd hooked from the minute they walked onstage and teased us with the opening kickdrum. Though most of the crowd was not familiar with the band, we quickly warmed to them. They're totally my new favorite band. As a bonus, Toshi from Big Business joined the band onstage for one song, and took a blistering solo. It was kind of amazing to see him kind of wander onstage and stretch his fingers all over the fretboard. Really, this band was fantastic. They clearly practice together all the time, and their communication onstage was clear and quite entertaining!

Big Business really should be playing giant venues, so I'm really happy I got to see them in such an intimate setting. Coady ruled the drums, and brought a fantastic, energetic, heavy performance tonight. After opening with the brilliant "Just as the Day was Dawning," the band rocked through songs from all three of their albums, including my two favorites from the new release, "Gold and Final" and "The Drift." These guys affectionately referred to the crowd as "babies," and took a break in the middle of one song to have the guys from Tweak Bird come on stage and start a sing-along. Jared was pure charisma this evening, playing his heart out and trying to get the crowd to buy him a drink. I'm honestly not sure if anyone ever did. Having fallen in love with Big Business as a bass and drums combo, I was wary of Toshi's performance on guitar tonight. However, he won me over with his appearance with Tweak Bird. Most of the night he reminded me of Larry LaLonde at a Primus performance - he was happy to be supporting Coady and Jared, and seemed to be as lost in the music as we the listeners were.

Local favorites Black Elk started the show tonight, which may point to why tonight was such a great time. Portland rock crowds are really cool, and everyone there was clearly into enjoying the music. Security was super chill and friendly until some tools started taking the mosh pit to the next level, at which point they took care of business efficiently, letting the rest of us enjoy our evening. Much love to the staff of Dante's, who were on time, friendly, and bobbing their heads to the rock tonight. I walked away with 2 t-shirts and a CD tonight. and I couldn't be happier.

Peanut Butter Dreams

The last time I went out socially with my high school sweetheart was a strange occasion. We went to HORDE Festival, an all day show with bands like Blues Traveler and Black Crowes. The show was fun: God Street Wine, G. Love and Special Sauce, and Joan Osborne stood out as excellent performers that day, and we both enjoyed watching everyone dance in a lovely mudpit.

Jennifer had already met the man who was to become her husband, and she was clearly emotionally well beyond the story of me and her. This is quite appropriate in hindsight, but was quite painful that night, leaving me more lonely than I really should have been on a lovely summer's night the year I was 18. After a mildly awkward good-bye, Jennifer dropped me off at my friend Megan's house where I was to spend the night before returning to camp the next day. I walked inside ready to be done with the day, and headed right to bed.

Megan is now a professor at MIT, but that summer she was one of the few women who didn't find me dangerous. She also had a giant bed, big enough for her, me, and another friend to sleep in. This bed, in addition to being quite long and wide, was piled high with enough soft blankets and comforters to warm human extremities on even the coldest of nights. Being summer, this was not a cold night, but Megan kept the air conditioning in her room on the highest setting, so as to enjoy the sense of being swaddled in bedclothes in all seasons.

I laid there, physically very comfortable in the magical bed, but emotionally quite lost in the cool, quiet dark. Suddenly the door opened and Megan lept into bed, a spoon in her hand.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Peanut butter. It'll make you have weird dreams," she replied.

Being an adventurous young man, and not one to ever turn down a spoonful offered by a lady, I ate the peanut butter, settled into the bed-nest, and drifted into sleep.

As a child, I'd had a recurring nightmare. In this nightmare I am chased down an alley lined with tall brick buildings. In the dream I'm running as fast as I can, but moving as if I was stuck in syrup. Usually I was chased by a giant cockroach, and once by the Count from Sesame Street. Luckily, the Count is the only one who ever caught me, and all he did when he caught me was sit on my chest and tell me, "ONE, ONE Han Solo in Star Wars. Ha! Ha! Ha!" This dream was totally a childhood thing, and I'd not had that dream for many years.

The night I had the peanut butter I had almost that exact same dream. There was me trying to run away, but being unable. There was the endless alleyway with no exits. There was someone chasing me. However, this time instead of being a cockroach or the Count, the pursuer was my mother. My mother dressed as a nun, running after me with a ruler.

I'm since never doubted the power or mystery of peanut butter.

A Gift of Adulthood

I find myself being more and more inspired by my intellectual ancestors as I age. As a child and teenager, I was convinced that my life's value would be in forging a brand new path, in pioneering the future somehow. When I left home at 18, I realized that I was ignorant of the vast majority of the human experience, not by any virtue or vice of my own, but simply because this experience is complicated, vast, diverse, and often murky. It seemed appropriate to me, then, to adopt an asana of learning. I've adopted the principle that I have something to learn from each person I encounter, and this principle has served me as well as I have been able to hold to it (which is, of course, imperfectly). Lately, though, I've been benefiting from this principle in a very satisfying way: falling in love with those who have come before me.

In elementary and high school, we meet dead characters all the time. G. Washington, B. Franklin, A. Lincoln. Schools present these men to us as born geniuses, flawless, moral, brilliant thinkers and doers. My principle of learning from everyone teaches me that they were not as the schools portrayed them. They are, to a one, men and women, social, political, and academic, flawed and imperfect. This realization is very very liberating, and is what has allowed me to fall in love with them as people.

For example, consider Isaac Newton. For the last three hundred years or so, anyone who wanted to learn how the physical world worked started with Newton's laws. Given an afternoon, and a little bit of Galileo and Descartes, I could describe almost any human-scale physical system using Newton's three Laws of Mechanics. He's arguably the greatest and most well-respected scientist of all time. However, he was notably absent-minded, and had a reputation for loudly speaking his mind against any who disagreed with him. I imagine other people in his life took care of most of his circumstance, and that he would not have been so successful without the support of his friends and family. This is not a judgment against him; in fact, I celebrate his humanity, and I celebrate the love and faith with which those around him served him.

Also consider my new hero, Richard Feynman. This man won the Nobel Prize in physics, and claims in his memoirs to be the only one who watched the first atomic bomb test through a windshield instead of through protective glasses. He loved nothing more than teaching physics to university students, and took up drawing in his mid-40s. He got depressed after seeing what the military did with the atomic bomb. At one point, he even married the wrong woman. These are all faults I can relate to, and they inspire me to live my life with curiosity and no fear, as we are as well described by our failures as we are by our triumphs.

It's only with the benefit of a bit of perspective on life that I've come to realize what it means to find beauty in imperfection. This is the gift of adulthood: the realization that regardless of stature or place in history, each of us has assets and flaws, and the color of life comes from the interplay of the two. There is comedy and tragedy in this realization, and that is beautiful.

Why I won't be Watching the Watchmen

WARNING **SPOILER ALERT**: This post contains spoilers about the Watchmen graphic novel. I understand the film is a loyal adaptation of the novel, and secondary sources say the subject matter of this post IS in the film.

In the Watchmen, a male superhero attempts to rape a female superhero, and is stopped in the act by a third superhero. While the depiction of this scene would be enough to keep me from going to the film, it's not the part I really have a problem with. The twist of the story is that the victim in this attack later goes on to have consensual sex with her attacker, resulting in their superhero daughter.

I believe patriarchy and rape are closely intertwined. Well over 90% of reported rapes in the US have female victims, and 99% of attackers are male. (source) Rape is an expression of power, and the real long term damage to victims comes in the constant reminders that that power is tied directly to male-centric culture. We as a culture punish victims and glorify attackers every day, in many forms of media. The Watchmen graphic novel (and now film) an example. First of all, the attacker champions the idea - a cultural cliche - that "she wanted it all along," and the victim vindicates this destructive idea when she turns around years later and comes back to him. Second, the victim is portrayed as quietly noble, admitting to herself that "she wanted it all along." For her bowing to the power of this manifestation of male strength, she is rewarded with a strong, healthy daughter.

I believe any non-egalitarian system of oppression is morally wrong, and patriarchy is such a system. One of the ways I can fight against patriarchal power is by standing up against rape culture, and I believe this film supports rape culture. We need to have serious discussions about rape, not films about superheros embodying patriarchal mythology. I will not be spending any money on this film, and I urge any readers of this post to do the same.

Flagship

My Isis discography is 104 songs, and it's been the heart of my listening rotation for this whole past year. As much as I hear the direct influence of bands like Neurosis and Tool on this band, I feel like Isis is diving further into the "post-something" category with every release. This band is unafraid of melody, and of space; their recent works make great introductions to experimental metal in general. Even more importantly, this band is working hard - touring with other artists, exploring side projects, and creating in the studio. They've clearly got a lot left in 'em, and I, for one, am listening.

Case in point: "In the fishtank 14," a collaborative effort between Isis and Scottish rock band Aereogramme. In the "fishtank" series, artists have 2 days in which to write, record, and mix a piece of music. For this entry, Isis and Aereogramme rocked a 3 song, 24 minute EP. It's slow without ever being boring or somnolent, and heavy without ever being overly abrasive. This is a very rhythmic record; the bass and drums shine in clarity and depth. It's a great place for new Isis listeners to catch some of the flavor.

Top 10 albums of 2008

10. Beck - Modern Guilt
Up to his old tricks, Beck put out a pretty good record this year. I suspect, however, that this album is somewhat diminished by overplay on the radio.
9. Xasthur - A Gate Through Bloodstained Mirrors
This is actually a re-issue of the artist's first demo from 2001. If you're not already familiar, I advise you not to seek out this music, as it will curdle the blood of the casual listener. This is very dark, very challenging music. I've listened to it because it creates an aural space inside my head, which I've found conducive to various intellectual pursuits
8. Pyramids - Pyramids
While it shares a certain lineage with the previous entry on this list (I would classify them both as ambient metal), "Pyramids" is a much more listenable, colorful exploration of the same nightmares. Sometimes soothing and sometimes abrasive, this album is consistently beautiful and intense.
7. Guns N Roses - Chinese Democracy
Say what you will, I loved it. This record tells me that Axl has been listening to all the music that's come out since the heyday of GNR, and has enjoyed a lot of it. This is a great modern rock record, and I would totally buy it if it wasn't a Best Buy exclusive.
6. In Flames - A Sense Of Purpose
Awesome. Loud, consistent, and perfectly produced, this record is spectacular. One of the few metal albums I could listen to first thing in the morning.
5. Flight of the Conchords - Flight of the Conchords
These two can do no wrong as far as I'm concerned. The show is brilliant, the videos are hilarious, and the album is irresistible.
4. 5ive - Hesperus
In the worst namespace collision ever, instrumental rock band 5ive shares a name with a horrifying boy band created by the same people who brought us the Spice Girls. That band ended in 2001, but their odorous legacy lives on in wikipedia and music databases everywhere. It's a proper tragedy because "Hesperus" is fantastic. It's pretty much all giant, rhythmic riffs and rock beats, which I find refreshing and satisfying.
3. Nas - Untitled
THE hip hop album of the year, Nas is in his prime, with a few more great albums still in him, I bet. This record is in the best tradition of rap, sounding like a news broadcast from the street. What's masterful here, though, is that Nas knows we're listening (my white middle class ass included), and is using his platform to spread some serious awareness.
2. Baroness - Red Album
Pure rock n roll here, this album should be on the "classic rock" radio stations within a year. This four piece rocked my socks at a Satyricon in Portland this year, and it was a sweaty sing along. Joey Ramone would be proud.
1 - Torche - Meanderthal
Anyone who's been around me this year is sick of this album, I'm sure. It's 13 songs, 36 minutes long, and constructed entirely from beautiful hooks psychidelic guitar sounds. I confess I saw this band live this year, too, which definitely helped push them to the top of the list. Even without that, though, this is a standout album this year.
Please notice that "Meanderthal", "Hesperus", "Pyramids", and "A Gate Through Bloodstained Mirrors" were are released on Hydra Head records. This label is the place to look for the future of rock and metal music. They are supporting and nurturing really innovative and forward thinking bands, and I couldn't be happier about that.

Honorable Mentions:
Genghis Tron - Board Up The House
Equal parts New Wave and technical death metal, Genghis Tron is one of the most provocative bands out there today.
Everlast - Love, War, and The Ghost of Whitey Ford
It's a pleasure to listen to Everlast grow into an old bluesman.

Hope is not a fantasy

Hope is not a fantasy.

Hope is belief in a better way. Hope is invoking love and life in the world around us, a world we know to be flawed and fearful. Hope is seeing that our friends are hurting, and making choices so our kids have it better. Hope is wanting to be happy and realizing that it happiness doesn't just happen to any of us. We have to visualize our happiness with optimism, manifest it with hope, and maintain it with peace.

I see the corruption. I see the power structures. I see the subhuman corporate interests, and I see the hate that lingers in our culture, fed by the continued fear mongering of fundamentalism. I see war with no end in sight. Still I hope, I believe that we can do better. It's a choice, and an active one at that. I hope, and then I make and take opportunities to implement that hope.

If hope were a fantasy, George Washington would have accepted kingship and the American experiment would have been over before it started. If it were a fantasy, the sacrifices of the abolitionists, the suffragists, and all civil rights activists would have become myths instead of a legal framework. If hope were a fantasy, Barack Obama would have been born a slave.

Look around. Nothing is certain. Trust is in short supply, and those we ask to represent us turn us against each other to hold on to their own scraps of self-claimed authority. Every societal system and institution we have tried so far has led to the commodification of life in all its forms, and to the violent support of that commodification. We've not gotten it right yet – even democracy doesn't work the way we expected it would. However, just because we don't have a way to live in peace yet doesn't mean we won't ever. Without hope, though, we may as well not even try.

So I don't think Barack Obama will change the world, or even change any of our lives in any noticeable way. The world is a big place, and full of serious challenges. I do think, though, that Obama believes a better way is possible. This campaign has shown me that he's willing to work for that better way, thoughtfully, seriously, and consistently. That's a train I can get on.

I live in the same world as all the cynics and haters, and I see all the warts, flaws, hubris, and greed. Still I hope, but not out of idealism. I hope because I choose to be happy. Hope is not a fantasy. It is a reminder that, in the end, we each are responsible for the stories of our lives, and that is as real as it gets.

Currently Having an Awesome Metal Experience

After building up my tolerance for a while, I am currently listening to an amazing metal album: Through Silver In Blood by Neurosis. Rated by many as the quintessential slow metal album, it's up till recently been too intense for me. However, this video brought me a new appreciation for the smoldering style of this band. I confess I can in no way recommend this album to the vast majority of music listeners. The length and pacing of the compositions, the theme of raw elemental power, and the properly over the top vocal performance all mean this music is largely inaccessible.

To finally enjoy this album, I have listened to lots of other slow metal, and have learned to focus on the textures of the sound rather than my personal rhythmic or structural expectations. I've also slowly desensitized myself to the more intense metal vocal styles. Artists like Isis and In Flames, where the tone and inflection (if not the actual words) of the lyrics are clear gave me a good starting place, as their singers' performances contained familiar elements of melody and harmony, simply taken to their logical extremes. While the vocals on Through Silver In Blood were not easy for me to listen to at first, I've started to be able to hear what's special about it. Whether through pure vocal control or production magic, the singers create textures just like the guitars: over driven, pushed to their lowest, longest frequencies, and played as hard and loud as possible. When I approached the vocals as an exercise in texture, I "got" the album, and am now noticing why reviewers note this as a masterpiece of metal.

This record brings into relief a small subgenre of metal that few dare to explore. This far corner of rock music has rewarded me with an epic aural landscape, populated with subtlety and mystery, which has left me feeling stronger just for having survived.

The kids of today should defend themselves...

From newsweek, via fark (my preferred new source):

If the civil-rights movement truly transformed America, why are our cities still segregated? If women were liberated by the '60s, why do working mothers still feel so chained down? If Vietnam taught us how to be a humble superpower, why are we still bogged down in Iraq?

The topic is the 60s and the context is the current US Presidential campaign. The author, Jonathan Darman, proposes that we as a country will not be able to move past the issues of the 60s without politicians who are willing to honestly face the above questions. I like that point of view. Even after September 11th peeled away the idealism upon which my identification as an American was based, I still have hope in leaders who are of the people. Leaders who are of the people arise all the time. Rarely do we see them at a national level, though. I believe the best president would be someone who didn't actually want the power enshrined therein. However, I've never seen that guy actually run.

No, this blog isn't about Ron Paul. As the newsweek article says, the 60s were so traumatic that we've spent the 40 years since just trying to restabilize our civilization. We've thus been unable to really learn the lessons of the 60s. As the child of career Army officers who fought in Vietnam, I still get called "hippie" in a derisive manner almost daily - because I espouse nonviolence as a way of life! My support for Ron Paul is about establishing an America where progress and learning are possible. I hold no loyalty to any historical period as a "golden age," especially given the short, violent history of my country; there is no time in history I would prefer to today. Thus I cannot support a leader who promises to brink back some better time in the past. We must observe the present in the context of the past, but really focus on the future. The future will be here tomorrow, whether we like it or not. So really this post isn't even about the 2008 election. It's about the 2016 election, and the 2020 election, and the 2044 election, the first year my pregnant friend's son will be eligible to run.

I'm happy to see this article end with questions, and not answers. There very well may be no answers to the questions posed at the beginning of this post, and that's fine. In asking and discussing those questions, though, we may just find a platform of worthy national character upon which we can stand together.

Sleep Om Earth Pelican

I remember the moment I first fell in love with rock music. I was 9, and the song that did it was "You Give Love a Bad Name" from Bon Jovi's "Slippery When Wet." That same year, I heard Run-DMC's "You Be Illin," and was just as moved. Since then, I've loved the music of the guitar, and the music of the beat with equal passion. I see genre as adjective, not category, and I allow my interest to flow as the spirit moves me.

That being said, I'm surprised to find I've been enjoying a certain sort of metal music. Generally, I respect the virtuosity required to be a serious metal musician, but I don't enjoy the overwhelming aggressiveness of most metal. Thus the heaviest music I've enjoyed (until recently) was the progressive rock of bands like Rush and the art-rock bloodline traceable from Layne Staley to Josh Homme.

Enter Sleep, the band often credited with founding the subgenre "stoner metal." They released 2 LPs and 1 EP between 1991 and 1993 before signing to London records. The band broke up over frustrations with London records, who refused to release what was to become the band's masterpiece, the hour-long dirge-epic song "Dopesmoker" (aka "Jerusalem"). Not until 1998 did this album finally see daylight as an "official bootleg." It has since been re-mastered and re-released in 1999 and 2003, and I heard it by accident in 2006.

This music, Sleep's "Dopesmoker", is nearly indescribable. It's very, very slow and through-composed. The lyrics, such as they are, describe a marijuana-centric epic journey of some sort. Since one must dedicate a full hour to listening to this song properly, I've only heard in it's entirely maybe 6 times. It's worth hearing if you get a chance, but I don't blame you if you only ever listen to it once. You'll never forget it.

Intrigued that anyone had ever made music like that, I investigated stoner metal and it's cousins, doom metal, drone metal, and post-rock. I've been investigating this corner of rock and roll for a few months now, and I've found some gems I'd like to share.

First, Om. Om is the current project of the drummer and bassist from Sleep, and one of the most listenable and provocative bands of this genre. Their songs regularly top 10 minutes, and are slow, textured, and more traditionally structured than "Dopesmoker." My favorite Om record, "Conference of the Birds" (1996, Holy Mountain) is 2 songs, "At Giza" and "Flight of the Eagle," whose open, airy tones introduce a theme that runs through the rest of the music in this post. That theme is the power and scope of nature, and the planet itself. I believe it is this theme which draws me to all three of the bands about whom I am writing.

When the name of the band is Earth, one knows the artists are looking to larger inspirations than girls and cars. Earth's first full-length, 1993's "Earth 2," is to drone metal what "Dopesmoker" is to stoner metal. It's 3 songs, 15, 27, and 30 minutes long. However, if I didn't have a track counter, I wouldn't have been able to tell when one ended and the next began. There's no vocals, no keyboards, and although the credits list a percussionist on one song, I noticed nothing that sounded like percussion anywhere. It's all heavily distorted guitar and bass, and it's beautiful. Like, meditate to this beautiful. Totally alien to some, I'm sure. It's mildly maddening to me, but it lines up my brainwaves in some powerful manner. However, later work by Earth is much more listenable, and even accessible to less accustomed listeners. My personal favorite, "Pentastar: In the Style of Demons" (Sub Pop 1996) even has verses & choruses, and ends with a fantastic traditional rock guitar solo, something I've otherwise not heard from Earth.

Finally, I'm sure my friends debate behind my back about whether they're more sick of hearing me talk about: Ron Paul or instrumental post-rock band Pelican. Wtf is instrumental post-rock? Well, there's drums, bass, and lots of guitars. Pelican uses musical forms familiar to both modern rock and metal listeners, but fits neither of those genres well. I've not yet tried it on my in-laws, yet, but I believe even the most traditional classicist could enjoy the musicianship on Pelican's latest album, "City Of Echoes" released this past June on Hydra Head. On this album, Pelican explores the boundary between wild and urban environments, layering unusual chords over one another to create a multidimensional distortion that excites every synapse of my brain. Pelican plays rock music that inspires me to think more openly, more richly, and more sensuously. In fact, I love "City of Echoes" so much that I went to the band's website and bought it. That's the first new CD I've purchased in years, and I feel great about my purchase. In the process of getting familiar with this band, I've listened to them and their labelmates & musical collaborators on Rhapsody. I've befriended and conversed with the band via MySpace, and now I've purchased their physical CD as an act of support. I love having a direct relationship with these artists.

So I say to you, friends, in this long-winded manner, the state of rock and roll is alive and well. These bands are exploring, they're composing, they're performing, and they're making great music. So here's to smart metal music. Let me bang my head till I die.

In an act of Revolutionary Patriotism...

I have changed my party registration from "Green" to "Republican."





That's right, folks. I'm a registered Republican.





Why? Two words: Ron Paul. As a registered Republican, I can vote in the Republican primary election, so I can help Ron Paul get the Republican nomination.



If you are an American with Libertarian leanings, I recommend you do the same.

A Case of the Mondays

A short message about keeping our priorities straight in a confusing world. From some YouTuber. And Fatboy Slim.

DTMB

"Don't tase me, bro."



Yes, yes, we've all heard it. By now it needs no context in this medium. In fact, this meme has already begun to come unstuck from it's context in a decidedly postmodern (that is, quite common) manner. That part's not that interesting.



For the sake of argument, I'm going to adopt a cynical position and assume the UF tasering incident was a set-up, a fiction, a piece of performance art. I'm going to assume the police acted in a perfectly rational manner, and that Andrew Meyer somehow "deserved" to be treated like a violent criminal. Take away all the political and social and legal issues awash in daylight after this video, and the meme remains: "Don't tase me, bro."



I'm sorry, let's add ONE piece of context. What we have here is 2 people, one a "citizen" and one to whom some kind of "authority" has been granted.* This authority allowed one of these people to painfully shock the other person in public, in front of hundreds of others while (and this is key) the recipient of the shock said, loud and clear, "don't tase me, bro." A very obvious imperative, softened and humanized by the familiar term of equality and peace. With apologies for the patriarchal language, if we are brothers, is there any way to morally justify treating our brother as anything less? Would YOU tase your brother when he said to your face, "Don't?" If anyone is calm and clear enough to form a simple sentence, and invoke brotherhood in his request, is that not a clear, universal sign to STOP?



And yet, back in context, there are still those talking about "he deserved it" and "had it coming" and "avoid by submitting." These may be these same folks who celebrate brutal conditions in overcrowded prisons, who champion walls around "nations" to keep people out/in. Those who feel hurt or violated, who need to extract revenge. This is our personal pit of snakes here in the US. I live in one of the most consciously liberal parts of the world here in Portland, and still I swim in violence every day. Even friends consider me extremist for truly believing in nonviolence as a revolutionary way of life.



So, please, don't tase me, bro. Pass it on.








*I use the passive voice there to indicate that I do not know "who" or "what" granted the police this authority. This, however, is another question altogether.

All-Star Band (Rock's 1st Generation)

It is a still, humid night in Biloxi, Mississippi in the 1950s. A keen ear could hear the bass guitar from a quarter mile in either direction along Highway 90. Tonight, the local road house is hosting a fantasy band. It's a moment that never actually happened, but could have. The band in question is The Powerhouse, a classic R & B outfit guaranteed to leave every audience member sweaty and smiling by the end of the evening.
Based in the blues, the rhythm section of The Powerhouse consists of drummer Sam Lay, and bassist Willie Dixon. Both Lay and Dixon participated in the electrification of the blues: Lay played drums on Bob Dylan's first full-band rock album, Highway 61 Revisited, and Dixon was a producer for Chess records, as Chicago electrified the Delta Blues sound. Dixon's Southern style and Lay's irresistible shuffle beats resonate with the Mississippi fans, a salt-and-pepper mixture of young people brought together by the music.
Two musicians occupy more than their fair share of the stage tonight. Grinning broadly and turned to face the audience, Fats Domino's arms bounce up and down on his piano's keys. His compatriot, saxophonist and rabble-rouser Louis Jordan dances on the stage. Jordan hollers at the audience between sax solos, but never misses a beat when his break is next. He swings his saxophone back and forth, playing short bursts of lively notes and looking Domino in the eye, daring him to try and respond. Domino answers easily, amplifying Jordan's phrases with energetic boogie-woogie runs up and down the keyboard.
The only white performer on stage, Scotty Moore stands stage right with his feet together. He is as calm as Domino and Jordan are frantic, but his hands are faster than anything else on stage. Moore's fingers find ever higher notes in the scale, never missing a step. He relaxes between instrumental bars, strums the rhythm for a while, then flicks a switch and starts the next solo. His guitar echoes back and forth within the crowd, sounding like it's coming from everywhere at once. The noise is tremendous, and the crowd can't get enough. Moore finishes a solo, takes a step back, and smiles at Domino and Jordan, who nod and fill in the space left behind with their playful melodies.
At the center of the stage, like the eye of the storm, stands Willie Mae "Big Mama" Thornton, swinging her arms and hips to the beat of Lay and Dixon. She is singing a song written by Dixon, but no one in the audience knows. To the kids bouncing and shaking in front of the stage, Big Mama is the Reverend, and one does well to heed her words, regardless of author. A gospel veteran, Big Mama is used to their attention. She channels it, breathes deep, and belts out the next verse. Her voice is so deep it's almost a growl, and she never holds back. In fact, Big Mama's voice is so powerful she stands two full steps back from the microphone, and still fills the venue.
The Powerhouse have reached the song's climax, and Big Mama turns and glances at Dixon. Lay notices the signal, and he doubles his shuffle beat as Dixon changes keys. Domino and Moore will take solos soon, but first Jordan has something to say. Jordan lets his sax dangle, and jumps to the front of the stage. Without a microphone, Jordan entices to clap along. He hoots and hollers, "Louder!" as he begins his solo. Jordan's improvised melody dances around Dixon's walking bass line; Big Mama can be heard humming along in approval although she is nowhere near a microphone. Jordan holds the last note of his solo into the next measure, and Domino picks up the cue. He plays all over the bass line like Jordan, but he hits the keys fast enough to keep up with Lay's double shuffle. The crowd loves this: not a single person in the road house is sitting down. Following Jordan's lead, he plays just a little too long, signaling to Moore that it's his turn. Moore turns, looks at Big Mama with reverence, and pulls his shoulders up as he doubles and triples Dixon's bass notes. It's clear now why there is one white musician in an all black R & B band: this man has soul. Big Mama is obviously pleased with Moore's chops, and joins the audience in clapping along, again at the insistence of Jordan.
A slight relaxing in Moore's form signals the final, familiar blues-style turnaround ending. The Powerhouse follows suit, holding on to the tension of the song for just another moment. All six musicians are alert and on time, breathing deep into their respective instruments. They are focused on keeping the song alive, and they are all consummate professionals at this task. The kids hope it will never end.

Fresh Air

Presidential Candidates Sen. Mike Gravel and Rep. Ron Paul both visited YouTuber James Kotecki's dorm room recently. This is an amazing and beautiful thing, because these appearances put a seriously human face on next year's election. I hope the next year holds many similar moments of distributed information freedom. It'd be a really fantastic experience to participate in a real national discussion via MySpace and YouTube. However, I really hope these two guys find a way to distance themselves from the two big parties. Truth be told, I think a third-party ticket with Gravel and Paul could have a real chance of winning. My real hesitation has everything to do with awareness of unearned privilege: how can I vote for a white man if I can symbolically vote for change by voting for a black man or a woman. Because as much as I like Barack, I'm cynical because I liked Bill Clinton in the same way, and I felt a little let down by his politics in the end.
As in the last election, though, I really wish there was a stronger anti-war voice. Not just an anti-this-war voice, which seems to be plentiful, now that it's statistically popular. It's hard for me to trust any politician who was in support of the Iraq war only until they heard it wasn't cool anymore. Where are the candidates who have concrete ideas about our national educational system? Where are the candidates willing to talk about the negative influence of fundamentalist Christianity on American scientists, not to mention global health initiatives? Where are the candidates willing to say words like deescalation, voluntary disarming, self-defense-only, or peace dividend?
Maybe the underlying question is wondering: Where are the candidates not tied to multinational corporate interests? Check out these two videos, and let's talk about whether either of these men would make good presidents.



PS: The ads are just an experiment for a bigger project. We'll see..