Beatnik Blogging

As you are probably aware (made obvious by my web address), I have a small fascination with the Beat Generation. I love the writing styles of Jack Kerouac and Alan Ginsberg. I crave bebop and cool jazz daily. I love my black turtle neck and, admittedly, own more than a couple of beret's. I've often wondered what led me to be so enthralled in this strange era of American History. Is it the stereotyped clothing style of the seudo French-Goth persuasion? Is it the attitude of reckless ambandon that is so delicious to my adolescent pallet--or perhaps the patriotic idea of hitch-hiking across the United States? It could definately be that this generation adored the style of music that I love and study full time. These all may be valid and accurate, but I think the most appealling aspect of these rag-tag, irresponsible youths is this: they valued and lived for creativity. Not only this, it didn't even have to be "good" creativity, it just had to be creative. I look at poetry/writings/art from this genre and half the time it's just ridiculous, stream-of-thought ramblings. Sometimes it's more fun to laugh at than analyze. THIS is the appeal: I can write! I can draw. I can paint/sing/play/create. I don't have to be a scholar or professional. I may not be able to do all of it well, but that's not the point. The point is that I'm trying to create something unique and new. ANYONE can be an artist and EVERYONE deserves to be. We shouldn't have to worry about how "good" our art is and we definately shouldn't have to worry about if other people think it's good. Your art is just that...it's YOURS; it's for you, by you, given to you. The more we create, the better we get at it and if we worry about how it's going to be received, we'll most likely give up early. Nobody starts off exceptional.

The Beat Generation seemed to understand this (at least the way I view it). When thoughts of these beret wearing hipsters enter into our imagination we tend to think of a smoky coffee shop where everyone, dressed in black, are sitting around listening to poetry and jazz. They are listening to creation...and supporting it.

To Be or Not to Be...Blunt.

"You have tacky taste," "you talk a lot... and sometimes too much," "It's interesting that we're dating because you're not really my type." These and many many more dangerously blunt sentences have escaped my lips when talking to friends and women I'm dating. Luckily, most of the people I frequently hang out with don't seem to mind and usually dish it back. Just know this: once I become even somewhat comfortable with you, I automatically will assume a thickness to your skin. When it comes to my opinion and my observations, I often suspend what tact I have and will speak as my brain has initially ordered my thoughts. Except to edit any vocabulary/profanity issues, my mouth will be stripped of all filters.

Let's say a woman asks "does this make me look fat," or even more simple "how do I look?" Now, an intelligent heterosexual male would reply "you look great," or (for the long-termers) "you look fine dear." Me? Weeeell, being the thick-headed, blunt person that I am would (as kindly and politely as possible) tell you the truth. I know... dangerous, VERY dangerous. If I'm lucky, she'll look great; if I'm unlucky, well, it would probably go something like this "That's not my favorite dress in the world, your hair looks good, but that dress and those shoes are not very flattering." followed by a confident--but still awkward-- "no offense."

There you have it, I'm as dumb as I look. So don't ask me questions unless you want some honesty. I'm not cruel, pessimistic, or mean, but I will be completely honest and blunt.

Now, let's discuss some pros and cons

Pros:

1.) I won't lie to you (best policy and all that)

2.) In relationships, there is good communication and no decite (girls usually know exactly what is going on.

3.) It definately makes for some interesting conversations.

Cons:

1.) Foot-in-mouth disease (it's embarrassing for me sometimes)

2.) Occassionally people get the wrong idea or get offended (I'm sorry, I really am, none was implied)

3.) I don't get the luxury of being friends with everyone (some people just don't like it).

All in all, I still think the pros outweigh the cons, but it's still up for debate.

TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK!!!

P.S. I just saw "Sabrina" (the newer one) again. She is extremely blunt and I think it makes her even classier and more attractive :)

Jazz and race

A friend gave me an article the other day, this is what it said:

"All music genres go through a very similar life cycle: birth, growth, mainstream acceptance, decline, and finally obscurity. With black music, however, the final stage is never reached because white people are work tirelessly to keep it alive. Apparently, once a music has lost its relevance with its intended audience, it becomes MORE relevant to white people.

Historically speaking, the music that white people have kept on life support for the longest period of time is Jazz. Thanks largely to public radio, bookstores, and coffee shops, Jazz has carved out a niche in white culture that is not yet ready to be replaced by Indie Rock. But the biggest role that Jazz plays in white culture is in the white fantasy of leisure. All white people believe that they prefer listening to jazz over watching television. This is not true.Every few a months, a white person will put on some Jazz and pour themselves a glass of wine or scotch and tell themselves how nice it is. Then they will get bored and watch television or write emails to other white people about how nice it was to listen to Jazz at home. “Last night, I poured myself a glass of Shiraz and put Charlie Parker on the Bose. It was so relaxing, I wish I had a fireplace.” "

This was my reply:

whoever wrote this is an idiot. I'll agree that there are some people out there like the person in this last paragraph, but you could say the same thing about every kind of music. "Indie rock" kids are made up of true lovers of the music, but mostly a bunch of people who thought that dressing and acting unique came hand in hand with listening to a bunch of obscure artists who write lyrics like they were 5 years old.

People who really love jazz are the ones that realize jazz isn't about race and it never was. That's why Miles Davis (though he hated white people and felt like he had been mistreated by them his entire life) hired them anyway because he found that some people are just better jazz artists than others. Jelly Roll Morton was a white, anti-semetic windbag that was a pain to work with but he is still known as one of the most influential, compositional jazz artists of all time.

I'm not trying to say that jazz shouldn't be accredited to black origins, it should and will always be a part of black and American history. Jazz lives on for the same reason that classical music lives on: it is intelligent, creative music. We haven't "moved on to Indie rock" because it bores us to tears some times.

Music You Wish No One Knew You Had

Among my peers in the university-level musical studies, it is expected that we all, not only learn of the importants of every kind of "academic" music, but have impecable taste in music. Amidst the conversations at the university it is not uncommon to hear phrases like "gee, THAT's challenging music," or "it's sad that people actually listen to that stuff" and "I remember when I used to like that music." For most in the school of music, music is a serious and important study in which everyone should be experts.
I'm not uneducated in music (not to sound snobbish). Classical/jazz theory, music history, dictation and the like have all been drilled into me quite thouroughly, but I find myself (constantly) having to defend my musical likes and dislikes to my fellow music students and professors. So sue me, I like the Barenaked ladies. Crucify me if I can't stand listening to hours of atonal opera or free jazz. I feel that I appreciate all kinds of musical genres, bands, and even levels of talent. Sure, you'll get some kind of tolerance and respect (sometimes) when you tell these people you like classic rock--most musicians aren't completely closed minded. But, you tell these characters that there was a cool rap song you were listening to the other day and BOOM!, they blow a gasket. You know what, there takes some talent to write a pop song (though simple) that is so catchy it has everybody singing it for 2 weeks straight. There is something to be said for the hip hop song with such ridiculous lyrics that no club is found without it played at least twice in a night. You may hate disco, but DANG GINA, when it's playin' at 70's night at the roller rink, you can't help but fall on your behind out of sheer excitement. C'mon, we all have our songs on our playlists that we know we'll get made fun of for listen to. It's the ones that make you hesitate when your friends say "let me see your ipod" (dangerous words, huh?). You just gotta say "hell, I love what I love so lay off!"
So...yes, I do love Michael Jackson; I have listened to Daniel Powter's "Bad Day" more than most of the songs on my ipod; yes I do still listen to K-ci and jojo's "All My Life"; Earth Wind and Fire will NEVER die; I'm a straight man and I'm obsessed with Harry Connick Jr.; Eminem is kind of a genius; AC DC and U2 are not as good as people make them out to be; and "Who I Am" (you know, the song about her being Rosemary's Grandaughter) by Jessica Andrews is a well written song. There I said it! Phew, now excuse me while I turn up my Tori Amos.

Welcome to My Life

So I am new to the whole blogging thang, but I find it somewhat big-headed of me to think that
somebody would be interested in reading a webpage about my life (or my random thoughts and
observations); But whether it is the flattering thought that people might actually be interested in what I have to say or the idea of using this as sort of a journal-type experience, this blogging thing is kinda thereputic.


I'll pretend that I have regular readers (if that's just me, so be it) who are good friends.

I suppose a good way to start that out is to introduce myself and my life. I'm 23 and single (this is young! Here in Utah I might as well be telling people that I'm 40...we'll save that for another post); physically I'm a wirey, caucasian, 6 foot tall, Adrian Brody look alike who can grow one....magnificent beard. I'm a jazz saxophone player (majoring in jazz studies) who takes any opportunity to convince himself and others that he should have been born a black man in the 1970's--what a gorgeously fascinating time. Despite my strict Mormon/Utahn upbringing I'm an open-minded free-thinker. Don't get me wrong... I'm still LDS, in fact, I'm very active and strong in my religious beliefs, I just know WHY and I'm a motivated seeker of truth from all sources (religious, scientific, mythological, or
otherwise).

In my experience, most people have good intentions so it's hard to be mad at the world; it just so happens that most of those "most people" are not too good at following through with their good intentions. It's hard to point fingers though; we all have our weeknesses. When I was living in Portland, my missionary companion and I had an old piece of paper stuck to our door that said "Lord, please help me to accept those that sin differently than I do." Amen whoever you are...Amen.

Awesome Anger: the Aged vs. the Adolescent

There are two raging volcanoes in my house. Both are predictable and uncontrollable, but neither will stop errupting once they've started. For years there was only one that we all feared and we all learned to get out of it's way until it had cooled off and began sleaping again. As the years went on, that volcano grew old and more dormant. Then...another power arose in the household; it was much smaller than the old mountain and not as experienced, but it carried within itself the stamina of the new generation and the rage of Vesuvius. As the new volcano began its frequent adolescent explosions it rekindled the flame within the old mountain. The legendary "Battle For the Last Word" commenced; forests were devistated instantly and the affects are still being felt throughout the land. For years now, whenever one volcano erupts, it triggers a chain reactions of thousands of little catastrophes and the boiling lava covers all of the innocent village people who (despite their many offerings to these angry gods) writhe in agony as their flesh gets charred from the wave of the arguing titans.