transistor zen

I purchased a Buddha Machine about a month ago at Bent Crayon. The Buddha Machine (or BM for short--no, wait, that's just gross) has been aptly referred to as the anti-iPod. You can't download millions of MP3s onto it--instead, you're stuck with nine preset snippets that loop over and over again, issuing forth from a single, cheesy speaker.

And I love it.

The Buddha Machine is beautifully and unashamedly low-tech. Its haunting sounds are drenched in crackle and hiss, bloops and bleeps clotted in damp graveyard soil. Its mournful drones seem to emanate from an afterworld of test patterns, emergency-broadcast signals, and Morse codes sent by long-lost submariners. The loop I'm listening to right now sounds like a whale-song, deep, unfathomable, a final lullaby for Ahab perhaps.

My Buddha Machine howls quietly by my bed all night. Powered by a 6V adapter, it sings me to sleep, its single red eye glowing on my nightstand. The Buddha Machine can also run on two AA batteries that tend to grow weak rather quickly, causing the tones to deepen and distort further as they slow down into oblivion, much like the dying song of another mechanical creature with a single red eye.

Good night, Buddha Machine, and pleasant dreams.

strumming down memory lane

A recent post by Warehouse Man lists his favorite guitar solos, setting off quite a few two-handed hammer-ons and twang-bar dive-bombs in my brain. I began to list my own favorites off the top of my head. Most of the solos I wrote down had first stunned me back in high school--they still provide chills today. In no particular order:

La Villa Strangiato--Alex Lifeson/Rush
Ritual--Steve Howe/Yes
Kree Nakoorie--Yngwie Malmsteen/Alcatraz
The Fountain of Salmacis--Steve Hackett/Genesis
Three of a Perfect Pair--Adrian Belew/King Crimson
Ship Ahoy--Frank Zappa
Ease--Steve Vai/Public Image Ltd.
The Four Horsemen--Kirk Hammett/Metallica
The Web--Steve Rothery/Marillion
Moisture--Fred Frith/The Residents
Hammond Song--Robert Fripp/The Roches

For those about to shred, lowercase lifestyle salutes you.

embrace the random v

Here's a silly one: Google your name and the word needs, then record the first ten sentences that appear.

1. Matt needs to have his bottom bared,
and a paddling needs to be administered. (yes, Mistress)

2. Matt needs money. (who doesn't?)

3. Matt needs to not play every little blog meme that comes along. (oh, sweet irony)

4. Matt needs prayers and help and maybe just a balloon, a rainbow, or a little fairy dust now and then. (it's true)

5. Matt needs an Xbox 360. (Nope, but I wish I still had my
Magnavox Odyssey2--PickAxe Pete rocked!)

6. Matt needs tasks. (I have enough already, thank you)

7. Matt needs a family where he will receive support and consistency. (already have one, thanks)

8. Matt needs new liver, please help. (nope, but I haven't had liver and onions in a few years)

9. Matt needs to do my laundry for me. (do it yourself, you lazy slob)

10. Matt needs a fine instrument. (very true--I would love to own a Chapman Stick)

names for bands ii

Take 'em--they're free. One to a customer.

* Shit Dip
* Whoremoan
* The Smarmy Channel
* Heavy Seething
* Spastic Aztec
* Biblical Portions
* Washboard Forehead
* Ron Wood's I.V. Bag
* cruel-de-sac
* Feral Oaf
* The Cracking Disease
* Rectal Handshake

embrace the random iv

Old School Edition:

Virtual Burma-Shave

absurd words i have heard

From a dream last night:

"If God were a nose, I'd be a bean."

send in the drones ii

9 Beet Stretch

Through digital alchemy, Leif Inge has mutated Beethoven's 74-minute Ninth Symphony into a day-long opus-to-end-all-opuses. Each note has been extended by twenty-four times its original length while maintaining its original pitch.

I've been listening to the streaming webcast (linked above) for the past hour, and I feel like I'm floating in an extraterrestrial ocean of sound. Notes rise and fall at a glacial pace, swelling ominously like tsunamis of molten lava.

John Luther Adams writes that "sound is audible time." If that's true, then 9 Beet Stretch is the sound of Time dreaming.

five maxims to live by ii

If there is preparation, there is no regret.

Horseplay leads to horseshit.

There is no I in team, but there is an m and an e.

WWFD -- What Would Frank Do?

It takes two to wango tango.

i'm not dead...

i just smell funny.

embrace the randumb ii

If you don't like Iron Maiden's version, you can always sing
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner to the tune of Yankee Doodle.

five maxims to live by

Everyone is entitled to an opinion--all opinions are not created equal.

You can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drown.

It's better to be pissed off than to be pissed on.

I'd rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy.

Never trust someone who prefers Van Hagar.

refrigerator rembrandts

Artwork from a co-worker's young daughter--much better than anything I could do at that age, or even my age now.

send in the drones

Drone Forest

Free full-length MP3s of ambient, droning soundscapes.
Hours of sublime noise.
Enjoy.

theater of the mind revisited

Andrew Listfield on WFMU

I stumbled across this archived radio show while searching for info on composer William Basinski (more on him next time). Listfield's weekly show is a cornucopia of ambient, exotic, trance-inducing music. However, the real treasure is his inclusion of old-time radio dramas from the 40s and 50s.

The particular show I've linked above features an episode of Pat Novak, For Hire, a noirish detective series narrated by Jack Webb of Dragnet fame. Dry humor, sharp dialogue, oddball metaphors galore: this one's got it all.

On many a drunken night, the usual decaying city would serve us up a slab of such vintage radio from his vast vinyl collection. Inevitably, I would fall asleep five minutes in, having had far too many beers to keep my eyes and ears open any longer. Mea culpa, my friend--you were right all along. This is great stuff.

not out of the woods yet

kraut on the tiles

celebrating the season of lint

A dry towel is not necessarily a clean towel.

embrace the random iii

My favorite strip of paper I've ever plucked from a fortune cookie:

Because of your melodic nature,
the moonlight never misses an appointment.

they came, they played, they pummelled

Devastator and I were aurally assaulted last night by the infamous British noise group Whitehouse. How to describe Whitehouse? Imagine a freight train steaming through a factory. Imagine the hiss of one thousand radiators and the howl of two thousand air raid sirens. Imagine the anger and disgust of a nation screamed through a megaphone three miles wide. Now multiply all that by five. You're getting closer.

Droning, screeching blasts of white noise pounded us until I was convinced my ears no longer worked and all sound was now being absorbed through my sternum. Various internal organs vibrated and churned to hammering pulses of subsonic bass. And throughout this audio barrage, I smiled ear-to-ear at the surreal sight of such mayhem being created by two men who looked like visiting professors from Oxford. Wolves in sheeps' clothing, indeed.

Extreme times require extreme music. Thank you, Whitehouse, and thank you, Devastator, for one sledgehammer of a birthday gift.

embrace the randumb

The gray film of dust on my Jesus bobblehead makes him look like Michael McDonald. Hmmmmmm.....Jesus is just alright with me.