If That's How It's Gotta Be

Last full week of summer vacation in Baltimore for me (going back to Taiwan next Friday) (oh Lord), three experiments away from collecting all the data I need for my project, and my lipid bilayers suddenly stop self-assembling. Which, in case none of that meant anything to you, is fucking great. And by great, of course, I mean not at all. Ever since I first played Super Mario, time limits have never served to my advantage.

Doing a bit better than as of last post, though. Feeling aimless, which I suspect is only compounded by the unrelenting humidity these past few days; there's been a visible haze outside quite literally continuously since the weekend, and even though it's only 28C outside now (yes, I think in Celsius), open window and fan do not suffice. Still, though, aimless is probably preferable to numb and doomed, which is what the last couple of entries would suggest.

Been listening to J Mascis & The Fog - Free so Free all day. Specifically, "If That's How It's Gotta Be" and "Set Us Free," over and over. These two songs just hit the spot today, somehow, especially the first. Of course, I've always been the type to project my own concerns onto other people's lyrics, so it sort of makes sense.

There's been this thing on my mind. Maybe this was brought on by reading one of Joe's recent entries. It's no secret I'm a music sentimentalist: certain songs and albums are "heavy" to me ("The Goldheart Mountaintop Queen Directory" comes to mind), and I tend to refer to music while writing about things that were happening as I listened to it (see: above, most journal entries since 11th grade). This has nothing to do with whether I listen to the band, or even consider them good, anymore: for example, I'm listening to Hell is for Heroes' "Retreat," and it's still "heavy," even though my post-hardcore days have been over for at least two to three years now.

Sentimental tendencies are what made me start listening to a shitload of music in the first place, many years ago, and nostalgic associations are still what binds me most to songs and albums, even more than artistic appreciation or inspiration. I'll hear something and swear up and down that it kicks ass, but if I can't find a way to get sentimental about it, I'll stop listening to it eventually.

Some examples of associations:

1. various New Age stuff: ages 14-15, Evangelion fanboyism, escapism etc.
2. Travis - The Man Who: 10th grade and the end thereof.
3. Idlewild - The Remote Part: 11th grade.
4. Neutral Milk Hotel - In the Aeroplane Over the Sea: 12th grade, etc.
5. Guided by Voices - The Goldheart Mountaintop Queen Directory: freshman year, first month or two with Patrice, etc. Was off-limits for a while.
6. Pavement - Slanted and Enchanted: the first Baltimore defence, summer 2005, commutes to and from the med school, etc.

This list ends after the end of freshman year, because there is simply not a whole lot more music for me to list; it seems that, after sophomore year, the number of sentimental musical associations tapered off sharply. Incidentally, this corresponds with the time that I first started listening to a lot of electronic music.

From here we may jump to one of three conclusions:

1. Either electronic music itself or the way I listened to it, is not conducive to nostalgia. I mainly started listening to Autechre, then Aphex Twin, then Squarepusher, then Boards of Canada because everyone from Miguel to Thom Yorke was listening to them. In other words: to see what the fuss was all about, and what of it I could steal for myself. In other words, critically. Maybe I never stopped listening to it critically, never gave it a chance to tether itself emotionally.

But there's also the possibility that it's simply harder to be sentimental about electronic music. I tried to make a playlist of electronic instrumentals that had sentimental value to me, and the only songs I could come up with were a couple Aphex Twin songs, a Squarepusher song, a William Basinski song (but from Melancholia, so somewhat different), and a Tim Hecker song. The question then is, why do I spend so much time listening to things I don't have a sentimental attachment to, and, more importantly, as I'm now making electronic music myself (or attempting to), what's the point of making music that I can't imagine other people becoming sentimental about? Nobody ever broke up with their girlfriend and cranked Selected Ambient Works vol. II for a week straight, did they? How do I get back from the pissing contest of look-how-many-weird-noises-I-can-make to being a sappy bastard?

I drop-tuned my guitar to DFCFGD last Wednesday on a whim, and within a few minutes I'd found two chords that, regardless of whatever effects I threw at them--distortion, delay, phaser--or not, were just emotionally expressive. They had the feeling of, "if I used this chord progression in a song, someone who listened to it would feel something." I wonder why something so easy on a guitar is so impossible on a laptop--all I ever get is, "maybe I'll sample this, it could be an interesting texture." Interesting is jack shit, really, when it comes to making an impression. My guess is that, without strings or keys (unless you are using a MIDI keyboard, in which case you are probably playing a softsynth, which is much more controllable but much less "experimental" than whacking a guitar signal through three different parallel granulators), it's hard to control elements such as harmony and chords.

I listened to The Notwist a lot last week, and a bunch of Morr Music stuff, who do manage to be sentimental in electronic music, but it seems most of those artists have one unprocessed element, usually vocals or guitar, that carries all the emotional weight, and all the digital elements are still relegated to texture. Of course, being the stubborn ass I am, I wonder if one could make the experimentalism carry the sentiment. Of course, the answer may very well be "no."

2. I myself have become overly critical. The past three or four paragraphs probably support this theory. Become too good at thinking twice and lost all my aptitude for blind emotional investment.

3. Both 1. and 2. are true.

There are exceptions, though. Mew's Frengers for example. Best days of last fall. Which was almost a year ago--Christ. Still, that's rock music.

Went to the Upright Citizens Brigade show at the Baltimore Improv Festival with Sarah K. and Jessica on Saturday. I'm always at least okay when Sarah K.'s around. Jessica asked me if she was still "special," and I said yeah, I guess so. It's just there are so few people whom I can be around indefinitely without becoming exhausted eventually, and that counts for something. Also I'm still somewhat fond of her, but whatever, it's not like that ever bore up to any thinking.

Jessica thinks I'm sad about everything all the time. Untrue. I am sad about some things sometimes. And, I suppose, a few select things most of the time, repeatedly, but still, that is not everything all the time.