The Day the Music Died

My AudioScrobbler seemed to stop accepting my submissions, and just when I finally got a copy of MYPL. What is one to make of this?

There was some sorta spyware on my computer the other day and perhaps the two have something to do with one another. It's a world full of thieves and shysters as much as it is filled with honest folk. The latter reacts by barracading within a bulwark (conservatives in religion or family, liberals in odd complex networks of communities).

Somewhere after 1976 American society fell apart (I mostly blame Star Wars and Ronald Reagan). My idea of Society simply being that though the thing doesn't work really well, everyone agrees to keep plugging away at it mutually together.

Case in point: DJing. My arch-nemesis, (recently downgraded to #2 position) Madonna, quips that "Music brings the people together." One would think; most of it has a 4/4 beat (except, oddly enough, A-ha's "Take on Me") and if a DJ has a sense of rise, fall, and rerise, they should do well. But there's so much cultural baggage attached to songs, one finds folks running behind specializations, sporting their badges and flags.

This isn't bad in and of itself. Culture develops as a small set of people pursue a specific idea and then react against it and rethink it. But to have no desire to explore the "other," to me is just bizarre. When someone comes up to me when I'm spinning and says "Can you just play hip-hop or we're leaving!" One doesn't really get the feeling like we're working on something here together.

This wouldn't be so bad if it weren't a mirror of society.

Then there's the internet. After 20 years of American "society" saying "don't go outside, your neighbors will shoot you," the marketing forces of software manufacturing forced everyone on-line. Now we're being thrown back into society: spyware, crazed lunatics, sex, love and innocence. Funny thing, all that.

Blah blah blah. How 'bout a song?

Corvus Trouteyes -- Love Your Crooked Neighbor (2002)

I met Corvus one night when I was hosting a soirée at Le Bistro des artistes (though we were at one time almost neighbors, he living in Seattle, WA). Un type d'un certain age with his guitar, wife, unassuming and flirtatious demeanor. With a voice that almost doesn't work but does (imagine if Jad Fair was born 15 years earlier in Montana). He gave me a copy of his CD and I'm sure he wouldn't me sharing a tune with you.

And since my Scrobbler thing don't seem to be working, I've got to spread the love somehow.