Friday, May 29, 2009
Today I got up and opened my window and it was very beautiful outside. It was mild with a slight breeze.
I'm currently reading Silliman's Under. Like many other Silliman texts, it's kind of a narrative whirlwind/pool of keen particulates and wending detail-- kind of like a steadily tornado-ing text. He's always cited composers like Reich as an influence. In the reading of it, I find I get tricked by what seem to be 'personal' details strewn among details that seem clearly to not be 'personal' details. But the aesthetic is that it's all personal and that nothing is personal hence, no? Holding The Alphabet is kind of a nice hardy pleasure all it's own. Some of the daunting prospect of it's near Yellow Pages thickness is removed when you realize you have your whole life to read the book.
I must say I don't really get this new 'shitgaze' stuff. Alot of it just sounds to me like music that's so intentionally oblique and unintelligible as to be almost a forceful projection of jaded resignation, rather than say anger, fear, joy, lust... I mean music can be a vessel for a whole lot of emotions, come to think of it all emotions at various points, if that makes any sense. Apart from shitgaze, alot of Indie Rock seems to rely on this a-priori sense of a personal, solitary experience, a shared experience but shared in seperate spaces with pockets of media and groups of people; music that generates a vague projection of the experience of, well, growing up middle class and white.
I do like alot of lo fi stuff. Who knows maybe I'll change my mind in a couple months. And I grew up middle class and white. I love Pavement, Guided By Voices etc. So I may just be recognizing all that in my self.
Probably one of the reasons I wouldn't make for much of a music critic is that (besides really probably my almost compulsive like compulsory use of qualifiers in my own prose) I don't see any reason to take a position on most music in the pop realm. Though I guess I did do that in the paragraphs above.
Today I'm blogging but this may be just another prelude to another long silence. Who knows?
My own prose is a source of constant frustration for me. I post things here that I cringe at almost immediately after and have to force myself not to take down. A poetry blog like I once did might be more suitable, who knows. But I feel kinda like I already did that. Yeah they're still there, feel free to peruse.
Update: There's a pretty good chance I had a booger in my mustache the entire time I was asking my building manager whether he thinks the postal carrier would take outgoing Netflix just now.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Someone who I knew-- a charming and wonderful person for sure --told me last week that I have a "cute little nose". So I have an idea for a sketch or short film, or performance piece that involves standing in front of mirror at 3 in the morning or some such time of angst and pointing in the mirror and saying over and over: "You got a cute little nose... a cute little nose... do you hear me a cute little nose."
This could possibly work as a way of getting myself pumped up before a reading. I've always thought I could use some kind of Dirk Diggler pre-performance ritual type thing.
I've been reading, in a completely non-linear way (this is half chalk-up-able to a short attention span) Jennifer Scappetone's From Dame Quickly. I really dig how it can go at a sort of half-tethered to syntax kind of way but also channel the various transmissions and mental debris of culture. The lyric is airtight, I think. Reminiscent a little maybe of LangPo from back in the day, but also a necessary update.
I dredge alledgedly
to repair and upgrade the Port of Umm Qasr
I edge legibly duty free
transrational contract drag
well I pledge alien
lesions will be doled
-- this feels like something I've thinking about trying to attempt myself, unless I completely misunderstand. And I feel like that would be ok, since the above from Delection Even, and the more projected pieces like Beauty, could be read just as much for sonic pleasure.
On Tuesday, I almost got hit by a car whilst trying to turn left onto Van Buren St. I was out pretty much in the middle of the street on my bike at a redlight waiting for the cars going in the perpindicular direction to pass, but one of em decided not to go straight like I'd planned for it to and it's left turn action almost took me out. Also I didn't have my lights on and it was raining and dark.
Today I realized my dental insurance is pretty much only useful if you're the kind of person who's been taking care of their teeth for years, and only need a cavity removed every once in a while and the occasional cleaning, and not if you need extensive oral surgery like I do. Shit.
A: Rock, paper, sizzurp.
Addendum: My attempt to connect Lil Wayne to sizzurp was either completely erroneous, or this joke was not funny. Though in my defense, I imagined an invisible "get it" behind the punch line that was designed to exempt me from any "bad joke blow back". But irony, like Jenga, often collapses under it's own weight. Just another example of that Hauser exceptionalism. -- 7-3-09
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Saturday, May 23, 2009
This shit just makes me feel lucky, almost makes me feel paranoid, but in a good tingly way. I can't wait for my copy of Sprung Formal to arrive. I'm being a little impatient, I know. Actually I don't think I've gotten mail for like the last 3 days. Is that weird? Should I call the post office or something? But once again, you get such a fine assemblage of poets, writers and artist-type persons as Eirikur Orn Norodahl, Josef Kaplan, Brandon Brown, Alli Warren, Jasper Bernes, David Perry, Kari Frietag, Todd Colby, Sarah Luther, Linda Lay, Sarah Sarai, Nada Gordon, Sawako Nakayasu, Jordan Stempleman, Ryan Daley, Nathan Logan, Edwin Torres, James Meetze, Sarah Mangold, Alex Savage, Maurice Burford, Jess Rowan, Charlie Mylie, and in the mix you also get some stuff I did. You know this is gonna be good.
Friday, May 22, 2009
I have poems in the lamentably last issue of Chris Martin's great Puppy Flowers. I've been aware of Puppy Flowers as one of the really cool and unique Internet publications for several years. I remember for one seeing some poems by my great friend John Tyson, who I predict will make an LL Cool J-esque (don't call it a) comeback in the next few months. They should still be in the PF archives. But you have to look for 'em, and get to know Puppy Flowers in the process. The line-up for this issue though is pretty freakin' stellar in it's own right: Anselm Berrigan, Dorothea Lasky, CAConrad, Buck Downs, Cori Copp, Jason Morris, Corine Fitzpatrick, Andy Hughes, and Matthew Zapruder. I'm honored to have my stuff among theirs.
Monday, May 18, 2009
I kind of want to say "Steve", or really "SM", because he wasn't really "Stephen Malkmus" with Pavement, which is what I'm thinking of. Malkmus' pouty, rubbery singing might the thing that really keeps me coming back to Pavement over and over. And I've actually not heard or read alot about his vocal style as a quality in their music, except for the "slacker" "not really trying" line. My friend Zack Pieper, who might also be one of my favorite vocalists, once made a remark about Malkmus coming into his own as a torch singer on Brighten The Corners. But for me, it's circa Crooked Rain Crooked Rain and Wowee Zowee more specifically "Heaven Is A Truck", "Rattled By The Rush", "Brinx Job" that get my tearducts a-flowin'.
For "Heaven Or Las Vegas", "Orange-Appled", "Sugar Hiccup" and more. Her voice gets softer, more sensual, and louder at the same time.
Mark E. Smith-
Yeah, The Fall. He was the James Brown, Fela Kuti, Duke Ellington, and Archie Bunker of post-punk. His memoir, Renegade, is a great read. I kind of want some leftover instrumental tracks from Hex Enduction Hour, or Grotesque (After The Gramme) for reading to.
For "Strange Fires", "Oceans Of Weep" and more. One of my favorite live experiences is seeing Ariel Pink open for Animal Collective in 05. It reminded me of what I'd imagined a Suicide show might've been like, at least the experience of it: vocals reverbed to the point of unintelligibility, drums even more reverbed, like industrial music almost. You really got the sense this singer did not like you. And the keyboardist is grabbing the bassist's shirt for some reason. Like Bowie's voice in a blender at a pagan ceremony.
Yeah it will start to feel really ridiculous if I try to remark on why every vocalist on this list is amazing. I mean, Brian Wilson. Nuff said. But ok, him doing "Wonderful", accompanied by harpsichord from the original Smile sessions, is one of the most beautiful things you'll hear in your life.
"Detour Ahead", from some bootleg off a CD my mom once got in the mail from Bravo Network.
"Future Days" cooing. Best cooing in general.
"18 Carat Love Affair", not to mention very excellent lip-syncing there of.
All the popular choices. Specifically, for one example at least, "No Name #3".
What do they say, flow? "I Ain't No Joke"
"I Only Have Eyes For You" 's bridge has the best, most bliss-inducing (for me anyway) moment in pop music.
For all of Pink Moon. Also, the strings on "River Man" (from Five Leaves Left) give a great vocal performance reminscent of Nick's own hum.
I have gotten some shit for my love of Joanna Newsom. 'Prententious lyrics?' So what, you only listen to Lou Reed? 'She plays the harp?' So what, you got a problem with Harpo Marx too? And Debussy's orchestration of Troi Gymonpedies?? 'Concept album?' So what, you have never honestly enjoyed a concept album? Not St. Pepper? Zen Arcade? Not any of them? She sings like a dolphin! For a second anyway, on "Only Skin". If you don't like that there's " "En Gallop" ".
"Hounds Of Love", "Big Sky". Just think of her as the person who existed so Joanna Newsom could exist. Also watch the video for "Unbelievable" on YouTube. And "Wuthering Heights", the version with just her dancing in a field.
"I Feel Like Dying". Would it be a completely dumbass thing for me to say he's the Kurt Cobain of Hip Hop? Tricky with with more (er, utilized anyway) MC skills? (I love Tricky, at least early-Tricky, but...)
Calvin delivered the most amazing vocal performance I've ever seen in person a few years ago Milwaukee School Of Engineering's Todd Wehr Center. Alone on stage, swaying, sashaying, completely earnest, singing a capella "When Hearts Turn Blue". Beautiful.
"The Word Girl (Flesh & Blood)". Actually now I have a conundrum, because I think Green is my fav for cooing instead of Damo.
Incredible, scary vocals all throughout Daisy Chainsaw's music, but "Pink Flower" esp. the second half of the song is one of the peices of music I'm familiar with where the description 'terrifying and beautiful' might actually be apt.
"Verbal Intercourse" and other classics off Only Built For Cuban Linx actually make it kind of a toss-up between Raekwon and Ghostface, but I've always liked Rae's flatter tone, which seems like it allows for a better verbiage to flow ratio, on Linx anyway.
Thinking of the Velvets I guess. "What Goes On", "Jesus". Feel like I should give props to Doug Yule for "Candy Says" too.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Thursday, May 14th 8:00pm
900 S. 5th St.
(5th & Walker. Enter on Walker. One block south of National)
$5 suggested donation
As usual, there will be some food and drink, but really, feel free to bring your own.
Matthew Henriksen has two chapbooks forthcoming in 2009--Another Word from DoubleCross Press and Only Grows from Cue Editions--and compiled a selection of Frank Stanford's unpublished poetry and fiction to appear in Fulcrum Annual. He co-edits Typo and publishes Cannibal Books at his current home in Fayetteville, Arkansas.
This is his:
No Reality But the Ruined Idea of a God We Speak To
Gnat caught in the breath of a dismantled catechism
on a cracked pew in a cathedral by the sea,
restore with your nothing wings
the way to where I left my shoes.
No imagination but in your tiny, ruptured eyes
which may as well see no thing,
before a brain which cannot count,
behind the inverted cradle of my hands,
which in a moment or two
will dispatch what I forget.
Mike Hauser grew up in rural Wisconsin, and now lives in the near-Downtown area of Milwaukee. His books area Dirty Movies Late At Night (Rust Buckle Press), crets crets crets (Rust Buckle Press), Close Gauge Petcock, and Psychic Headset (Mitzvah Chaps). His poems have appeared in Rust Buckle, Gam, Burdock, Abraham Lincoln, The Hat and more. When he is not windsurfing, summering on the Cape, or taking a young Italian lover, he co-curates the Salacious Banter Reading Series with Karl Saffran.