Miss Pullukka 1973, Rauha Sanna Koli
Finnish sensation magazine Hymy (which you can find represented at pHinnWeb's FinnSleaze page) organised its first Miss Pullukka (translating as "Miss Plump" or "Miss Tubby") contest in 1972. Hymy articulated its goal to criticize beauty norms very clearly in its opening declaration of Miss Pullukka contest: "Us here in Hymy magazine think that a girl does not have to be stick-thin, curveless model type to be beautiful, feminine and attractive." "When we discuss women's equal rights, we should also enforce equality between women by crushing today's misleading ideas of beauty." "We are organizing a very own contest for the big, plump, genuinely womanly women, where the common beauty queen measurements are unacceptable." "The contest is open for all round Finnish women, Miss or Mrs." "The contest costume is free, but a soft, girlish posture is an advantage." (Hymy 12/1972).
Finland's Miss Pullukka, Rauha Sanna Koli, was not chosen by reader's vote, although that was the original purpose, but "the jury was so won over by her voluptuousness and uninhibited behavior that the case was clear without voting" (Hymy 2/1973). Rauha's age and weight were not told, but she was clearly more excessively fat than any of the present-day Miss XLs and probably over 50 years old, a divorcee with three children.
The finalists' ages varied from thirty-something to sixty-something, and their sizes varied greatly as well. Some of them were "on the edge of being too slim" according to the magazine -– Rauha, the winner, was possibly from the fattest end of the contestants. The published pictures of the finalists were the same ones they had sent for the contest, but Rauha was photographed especially by the magazine in the nude. The nude photos of Rauha were by no means pornographic, but they were meant to be shocking without doubt: "There is hardly anyone in our readers who could ignore these photos without any reaction, without any expression, without any emotion".
In the biggest of the three photos of Rauha, she is looking in a fake innocent manner over her shoulder, standing up sideways, with her whole body in the picture, hands crossed over the breasts, and her hip pushed out. In an another picture she is kneeling down, and her breasts hang over her other knee. In the third picture she faces the camera and holds her breasts up, laughing. Hymy tells that Miss Pullukka contest was a success with hundreds of participants and many thank-you letters from readers, but for some reason the contest was not organized again.
Saturday, April 23, 2005
Thursday, April 21, 2005
Listen to Kompleksi vs Club Telex Noise Ensemble
One track of ours called
Kompleksi vs Club Noise Ensemble - 'Kompleksi' (originally titled 'CTNE')
is now downloadable both as
mp3 and ogg vorbis.
It's music of my mind, as brought to this world with the kind assistance of Mike Not; an exp.eclectro sonic psychodrama both on a common and individual level, concerning some pivotal issues of geopolitical and economic nature. Warning: not for the weak nerves.
Some feedback:
From pHinnWeb's mailing list -
Rene Kita: "Yow, fun, a new version. This one sounds like psychedelic electro, if there is such a critter. Me likes it a lot."
Sakke Karipuro: "i hear plenty of skinny puppy-ish things here. this is some hot stuff. great sampling too."
And Platinum -
Platinum
A list of all soundfiles you can hear through pHinnWeb at the moment.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Magazine: Shot By Both Sides
When punk rock happens, it is like a Stalinist putsch or Chinese Culture Revolution in music. Malcolm McLaren decides to start his own version of The Monkees for the bleak, post-oil crisis and pre-Thatcher 70s, and calls them Sex Pistols. Whereas 60s' slogans were "Peace" and "Love", now they are "Anarchy" and "Destroy". Out go prog-rock and concept albums, long hairs and beards; in other words: all things that are by now BORING -- in come three chords rock (taking its cues from The Stooges and New York Dolls), pogoing, nihilism and sniffing glue.
In 1977, as British punk rock's first vital energy is on the point of burning itself out, Howard Devoto, the founder, lyricist and front man of Buzzcocks, decides to make a change.
In a statement issued that February -- to announce that he is leaving Buzzcocks -- Devoto writes: "I don't like most of this new wave music. I don't like music. I don't like movements. Despite all that -- things still have to be said. But I am not confident of Buzzcocks' intention to get out of the dry land of new waveness to a place from which these things could be said. What was once unhealthily fresh is now a clean old hat."
Devoto thinks punk has become derivative, one-dimensional, unimaginative and predictable; in other words: BORING.
Devoto's new band calls itself Magazine, and consists of himself, Barry Adamson (bass), Dave Formula (keyboards), John McGeoch (guitar) and John Doyle (drums).
We have moved to the post-punk period; on their way are also the post-Pink Flag Wire, Public Image Limited, Joy Division, Gang of Four, Pop Group, Scritti Politti, and, later on, erm, Simple Minds and U2, and the ultra-white horrors of goth-rock. (And also synthpop, paving way for the 80s' and 90s' techno and house music.) Punk's simplistic sloganeering and throwaway pub rock-cum-The Stooges chainsaw guitar sounds give way to a more "arty" approach, more complex and nuanced melodies, even having space for synthesizers, previously known from the bloated concept albums of Pink Floyd and Yes -- vade retro! Has prog-rock made its feared return in the disguise of post-punk?
Michael Bracewell writes about Magazine for the liner notes of band's 2000 compilation Where The Power Is:
The group had a natural genius for the drama (and melodrama) of music, for that edgy filmic quality which could pick its way to the beginnings of self-parody before suddenly jolting back to the vitality of the original theme. Their intuitive leanings toward a type of music which expressed nervousness and apprehension -- a soundtrack, if you want, for film of a poorly-lit turn in the dark corridor -- were matched by their ability to pick up on the glamour and urgency of, for instance, spy movie themes from the 1960s and 1970s. Mixed together into their own unique sound, these influences became the ideal vehicle for Devoto's equally eclectic -- yet perfectly poised -- combinations of lyric, vocal and performing style.
Magazine's best-known track is their 1978 single 'Shot By Both Sides'; with a haunting melody added to punkish buzz-saw guitars, and the elliptical, existential lyrics which depict the lonely dissident outsider's ultimate position everywhere: "Shot by both sides / on the run to the outside of everything / shot by both sides / they must have come to a secret understanding". We are stuck on no man's land between warring factions, dodging bullets from both prog conservatives and punk partisans.
After Magazine disbanded, Barry Adamson got into his film music-influenced solo albums, even collaborating with Pan sonic; John McGeoch (who sadly passed in 2004) went on with Siouxsie and the Banshees and the much-maligned but at times brilliant ('Fade To Grey'!) Visage, where also keyboard player Dave Formula (familiar from Ultravox) joined. Howard Devoto collaborated with Luxuria, This Mortal Coil and Apollo 440!
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
New Weird of Finland @ Pitchfork -- Arttu Mouths Off
There's an interview/scene primer at Pitchfork Media about this so called New Weird Of Finland scene, meaning bands and labels concentrated on experimental-psychedelic-folk-freejazz-improvisation type of music. If you have followed The Wire magazine or some more underground type of music publications lately, you must have noticed that this is the hottest thing in music coming out of this country now, and not any more the minimal electronic music of Pan sonic or Mika Vainio (well, that's just their opinion).
As noted in the Pitchfork story, though, you can snicker any time when you can hear some of these non-Finnish journalists using the notorious term "the mystical forests of Finland", or especially "the mystical forests of Tampere", since this town consists more of dusty red-brick factories and smokestacks than of any hippie-ish pastoral idylls (as evidenced here and here). Tampere's suburbs and surroundings are a different thing, though... (Not to talk about my own personal vision of the Tampere town...)
Anyway, here's a funny excerpt from the interview:
"Many [early Finnish musicians] were technologically oriented; it was all about the new wonderful computers," says Arttu Partinen of Avarus, noisy jazz monsters Hetero Skeleton, and the Lal Lal Lal label. "Some such as Erkki Kurenniemi have futuristic utopias about computers taking over, and [that] being a good thing. After hearing one of Kurenniemi'a lectures, I decided I didn't want to have anything to do with his music."
Tsk tsk, Arttu... well, but before you jump into any conclusions, I know Arttu (the pic above) and like the guy; and even though we've had our different opinions on electronic music in the past, I've done some collaboration with him, DJed at his great Mental Alaska club, and his Lal Lal Lal will also soon release '(I Ain't No) Lovechild', the first 7" of our Kompleksi project. (Plus there will be another big project where both and Arttu will participate in, but you will only hear about it later.) In fact, if there is any local underground music scene, for me, Mr. Arttu Partinen is one person to whom you may say it personifies in.
---
Well, more Arttu's (and other Finns' adventures at Glasgow's Subcurrent festival in April 2005, as written down by David Keenan in his Wire diary:
"Backstage Partinen is drunk as hell and in everybody's face. He corners Nolan with the news that Virgin Eye Blood Brother suck. Nolan stays cool and shrugs it off, despite Partinen comparing them to '80s indie shoegazing'. It's only when he starts muttering about 'dudes' to himself and how he's gonna blow Wolf Eyes off-stage that Mike Bernstein of Double Leopards shoots me a look that says, this guy may end up on the pavement before the night's out. It's getting sweaty back here."
"Everyone has been waiting for Avarus -- Partinen won't let anyone forget them -- and they don't disappoint. Although there are extended sections of surreal gonzo humour (with Partinen spending long, uncomfortable minutes mock-masturbating an inflated balloon) when they do kick in they have all of the monumental, lumbering power of Silence-era groups like International Harvester. Kemialliset Ystävät -- like Es before them -- sound pretty different from what they do on record, with a ragged, loose quality to their sound that seems inspired as much by the interstellar improvisations of Syd-era Pink Floyd as much as UK free-form groups like The A-Band and Vibracathedral Orchestra."
"Suddenly The Fins are on the floor -- as well as some un-named guy who has cut his hair like Thurston Moore and who keeps running over to the deck and shaking his fist in the air -- and it's then that Niko-Matti Ahti drops in the moves that make his name at the fest, shaking his ass with the kind of abandon rarely seen in public. They send in the security to ask him to dance 'more sedately'. They know he's dangerous."
Monday, April 18, 2005
An Individual In Confrontation With The World, Pt. 10
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
Sebastian was seeing red again when he read from a newspaper another neoliberalist right-wing politician boasting: "If someone struggles physically or mentally, his income also must be superior to the one who doesn't bother to struggle", adding that "everyone is responsible for themselves". Such claptrap! If this was so, then why would some people struggle for all their lives, and still stay piss-poor?
Why should I follow the rules if those high and mighty politicians won't, Sebastian thought when watching a news report about the latest bribe scandal featuring politicians and some supreme court judges holding high positions. Viva civil disobedience! Up against the wall, motherfucker!
Enough of this already. He had to get out. It was Saturday night, so he decided to head for a joint called The Pop Club. Actually he was too old for that place with its teenyboppers and hiphop kids, but he had become accustomed to hanging out there for over a decade now, and the idea of having to spectate the antics of sad, drunken people of his age or older at some other bar, where the more "mature" people normally gathered, only filled him with disgust. Having kids around him made him feel young himself, even though the calendar may have said something else.
The Pop Club was not far from where he lived, only two blocks away, so you didn't have to risk your physical health having to stroll all through the drunken Saturday night jungle by foot or to waste your money in taxis.
When Sebastian arrived, a heatwave struck him in the face. The air was hot and humid as if in a greenhouse. Later on he found out that the blower that pumped cool air to the dancefloor had been broken, and the bartenders opened windows to let in some cold spring night air, to the dismay of those people who were sitting next to the windows.
Nevertheless, kids were dancing and fooling around as usually, as clueless and stupid as ever, but still somehow cute, as very young and ignorant people can be. Sebastian struggled his way to the bar through the crowded dancefloor where party people were wriggling to Beyoncé's 'Crazy In Love' or to some other current hit the DJs were always playing. As usually he bought a lager in plastic pint, which the bartender handed to him even without Sebastian having to place his order: not a case of telepathy, they knew he never drank anything else. Then Sebastian tried to find an observation place in a club where people were jammed in as if in a tin of sardines.
As time went by, Sebastian saw less and less familiar faces at The Pop Club. He knew he was an old relic there; his own contemporaries or even the people he had hung around with only a couple of years ago had mostly stopped clubbing when they had gotten older, deeper into their relationships and careers, and had started their own families and so on. Or then the old school people he had known had moved away to the capital city after better-paid jobs in IT business, advertising, TV or music business. Many nights he was content only to sip his beer alone, never talking with anyone and gazing the ongoing silliness of kids around him.
The DJ, an old veteran who had played at The Pop Club at least for twenty years, spinned now Deee-Lite's 'Groove Is In The Heart', a big club hit in 1990. Sebastian had grown sick and tired of that tune after having heard it at The Pop Club about a million times all through these years. It still seemed to be a floor-filler, though. This DJ in question had previously been specialized in old soul and funk, but in the latest years had been starting to play more and more MTV-type of R&B, which bored Sebastian: all those girl groups with their dance routines and pseudo-raps, simple tunes that sounded like children's songs, and with their digitally enhanced breasts and booties. Well, if that's what the kids today wanted to hear, OK, but as far as he was concerned, they could just fuck their "bling-bling" culture. Keep it real, man...
Though usually drinking alone, Sebastian always did his best to avoid giving the sad lonely-wall-rose impression. He kept walking around the club all time, "checking the scene", even danced a bit occasionally, and always finding a new observation post, instead of keeping sitting in a distant corner table, lest some soul with good intentions came to ask him: "Hey, why are you sitting here alone, looking so sad?" and blaah blaah. Usually they were either some plain-looking girls with nurturing tendencies, not-so-attractive to him, or worse, drunken guys whose babble more often than not bored Sebastian to death.
Often Sebastian kept thinking about his loner position, why he had to be such a lone wolf. He had been like that since he had been a child; he had always found other kids' games and their constant running around only childish and stupid; there had always been other things he had found more interesting, such as his fantasies, the adventures in books or films, his own little private joys. He had felt for all his life that he did not belong.
Did he feel sad because of his solitude? Sometimes he had, yes, but he had learned to intellectualise it, to see it all just philosophically. He was just an observer in this world, it was his his task to learn to understand, to be an eyewitness to the world's madness, not an active participator. He knew he was running away from his own feelings that way, but even that was better than living in a constant pain which came along with understanding. Keep your distance, don't get involved. Observe, analyse. Think. Keep an ironic detachment. Just don't feel.
11
Sebastian was seeing red again when he read from a newspaper another neoliberalist right-wing politician boasting: "If someone struggles physically or mentally, his income also must be superior to the one who doesn't bother to struggle", adding that "everyone is responsible for themselves". Such claptrap! If this was so, then why would some people struggle for all their lives, and still stay piss-poor?
Why should I follow the rules if those high and mighty politicians won't, Sebastian thought when watching a news report about the latest bribe scandal featuring politicians and some supreme court judges holding high positions. Viva civil disobedience! Up against the wall, motherfucker!
Enough of this already. He had to get out. It was Saturday night, so he decided to head for a joint called The Pop Club. Actually he was too old for that place with its teenyboppers and hiphop kids, but he had become accustomed to hanging out there for over a decade now, and the idea of having to spectate the antics of sad, drunken people of his age or older at some other bar, where the more "mature" people normally gathered, only filled him with disgust. Having kids around him made him feel young himself, even though the calendar may have said something else.
The Pop Club was not far from where he lived, only two blocks away, so you didn't have to risk your physical health having to stroll all through the drunken Saturday night jungle by foot or to waste your money in taxis.
When Sebastian arrived, a heatwave struck him in the face. The air was hot and humid as if in a greenhouse. Later on he found out that the blower that pumped cool air to the dancefloor had been broken, and the bartenders opened windows to let in some cold spring night air, to the dismay of those people who were sitting next to the windows.
Nevertheless, kids were dancing and fooling around as usually, as clueless and stupid as ever, but still somehow cute, as very young and ignorant people can be. Sebastian struggled his way to the bar through the crowded dancefloor where party people were wriggling to Beyoncé's 'Crazy In Love' or to some other current hit the DJs were always playing. As usually he bought a lager in plastic pint, which the bartender handed to him even without Sebastian having to place his order: not a case of telepathy, they knew he never drank anything else. Then Sebastian tried to find an observation place in a club where people were jammed in as if in a tin of sardines.
As time went by, Sebastian saw less and less familiar faces at The Pop Club. He knew he was an old relic there; his own contemporaries or even the people he had hung around with only a couple of years ago had mostly stopped clubbing when they had gotten older, deeper into their relationships and careers, and had started their own families and so on. Or then the old school people he had known had moved away to the capital city after better-paid jobs in IT business, advertising, TV or music business. Many nights he was content only to sip his beer alone, never talking with anyone and gazing the ongoing silliness of kids around him.
The DJ, an old veteran who had played at The Pop Club at least for twenty years, spinned now Deee-Lite's 'Groove Is In The Heart', a big club hit in 1990. Sebastian had grown sick and tired of that tune after having heard it at The Pop Club about a million times all through these years. It still seemed to be a floor-filler, though. This DJ in question had previously been specialized in old soul and funk, but in the latest years had been starting to play more and more MTV-type of R&B, which bored Sebastian: all those girl groups with their dance routines and pseudo-raps, simple tunes that sounded like children's songs, and with their digitally enhanced breasts and booties. Well, if that's what the kids today wanted to hear, OK, but as far as he was concerned, they could just fuck their "bling-bling" culture. Keep it real, man...
Though usually drinking alone, Sebastian always did his best to avoid giving the sad lonely-wall-rose impression. He kept walking around the club all time, "checking the scene", even danced a bit occasionally, and always finding a new observation post, instead of keeping sitting in a distant corner table, lest some soul with good intentions came to ask him: "Hey, why are you sitting here alone, looking so sad?" and blaah blaah. Usually they were either some plain-looking girls with nurturing tendencies, not-so-attractive to him, or worse, drunken guys whose babble more often than not bored Sebastian to death.
Often Sebastian kept thinking about his loner position, why he had to be such a lone wolf. He had been like that since he had been a child; he had always found other kids' games and their constant running around only childish and stupid; there had always been other things he had found more interesting, such as his fantasies, the adventures in books or films, his own little private joys. He had felt for all his life that he did not belong.
Did he feel sad because of his solitude? Sometimes he had, yes, but he had learned to intellectualise it, to see it all just philosophically. He was just an observer in this world, it was his his task to learn to understand, to be an eyewitness to the world's madness, not an active participator. He knew he was running away from his own feelings that way, but even that was better than living in a constant pain which came along with understanding. Keep your distance, don't get involved. Observe, analyse. Think. Keep an ironic detachment. Just don't feel.
11
The Art of Retouching
Ever wondered how those photo models of magazines seem to always have such perfect and faultless bodies? Well, this is how they fool us. It's quite amusing to see how these retouches reflect the current beauty ideals of what a woman (or in one example, a man) is supposed to look like: larger breasts, perfectly round buttocks as with today's butt queen Jennifer Lopez, no wrinkles or bags under eyes or moles or other skin irregularities, no cellulite or double chins, no fat, no too "disturbing" tattoos. More "healthy" skin colour added. What amazes me most is that they have also retouched pictures of women who look perfectly beautiful to me even without this digital plastic surgeon's knife used. Goodbye reality, welcome simulation.
Pass cursor over image to see image before retouching:
http://glennferon.com/portfolio1/index.html
Pass cursor over image to see image before retouching:
http://glennferon.com/portfolio1/index.html
Saturday, April 16, 2005
Telex 150405 Playlist
Here's the list of records I spinned at last night's Telex:
Gary Numan: Down In The Park
Rhythim Is Rhythim: Strings
Analord: Steppingfilter 101
Cybotron: Alleys of Your Mind
I-f: Shadow of a Clown
The Emperor Machine: Pro Mars
Human: Evil Knevil
Drexciya: You Don't Know
Kraftwerk: Expo 2000 (Underground Resistance mix)
Underground Resistance: Codebreaker
Laite: Pain
Dynamix II: The Plastic Men
DJ Magic Mike: Check Out Dat Butt!
DJ Assault: Strictly For The Tricks
DJ Slugo: Back Da Fuck Up
DJ Nasty: Directions
Shamen: Ebeneezer Goode (Meat Beat Manifesto mix)
Jeff Mills: Black Is The Number
Sem: Area 5
Of the night's live acts, I liked the best my old favourite, VCS 2600 (of mighty Rikos Records and also appearing on Sweden's Stilleben, Luke Eargoggle's label), one Janne Heikkarainen who creates great analogue electro: harsh and bleak enough to my own tastes. J-P Parikka and Kalle M played a sort of German-style tech-house with some dubby flavour, à la Sami Koivikko; with Sergio Leone's The Good, The Bad and The Ugly running as their backdrop on video screen.
Sakke took some pics of the event, which you can see here --
pHinn mercifully not appearing there! ;)
Gary Numan: Down In The Park
Rhythim Is Rhythim: Strings
Analord: Steppingfilter 101
Cybotron: Alleys of Your Mind
I-f: Shadow of a Clown
The Emperor Machine: Pro Mars
Human: Evil Knevil
Drexciya: You Don't Know
Kraftwerk: Expo 2000 (Underground Resistance mix)
Underground Resistance: Codebreaker
Laite: Pain
Dynamix II: The Plastic Men
DJ Magic Mike: Check Out Dat Butt!
DJ Assault: Strictly For The Tricks
DJ Slugo: Back Da Fuck Up
DJ Nasty: Directions
Shamen: Ebeneezer Goode (Meat Beat Manifesto mix)
Jeff Mills: Black Is The Number
Sem: Area 5
Of the night's live acts, I liked the best my old favourite, VCS 2600 (of mighty Rikos Records and also appearing on Sweden's Stilleben, Luke Eargoggle's label), one Janne Heikkarainen who creates great analogue electro: harsh and bleak enough to my own tastes. J-P Parikka and Kalle M played a sort of German-style tech-house with some dubby flavour, à la Sami Koivikko; with Sergio Leone's The Good, The Bad and The Ugly running as their backdrop on video screen.
Sakke took some pics of the event, which you can see here --
pHinn mercifully not appearing there! ;)
Friday, April 15, 2005
An Individual In Confrontation With The World, Pt. 9
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8
Night after night Sebastian would watch rich capitalist bastards gloating on TV, after sacking again thousands of people from their companies, only to keep their precious balances right. This always filled Sebastian with silent, powerless rage. This made him glad too that he was unemployed, and out of the rat race, but for how long? Perhaps he too was to be turned soon into another minimum wage slave by the employment officials, and he had a great future ahead of him cleaning up construction sites to survive. Sometimes he thought he would rather blow his brains out with a shotgun than submit to this.
One day chickens would come home to roost, though: it was inevitable one day oppressed masses would start revolting; when the revolution would come along, these members of economical elite would be slaughtered like pigs they were. Or perhaps the growing poverty and inequality would just pave way for populist politicians and totalitarian fascist-type of dictators. Read history: it all had happened before -- early 20th century Russia and Germany... in the third world countries religious fanaticism turning into terrorist violence. Or maybe there would be a nuclear war sparing no one, a merciful coup de grace to let the world out of its misery.
Sebastian firmly thought the whole Western civilisation (so called) was on the brink of collapse. Economy was overboiling, based on the deception of the notion of ever-growing profits. Every thinking person would see through that bullshit of the Orwellian doublespeak favoured by economists and consultants. These days any real alternatives were narrowed down to few: either play along their game, or perish. Those people who were still not outsourced out of their jobs were preached by the high priests of economy, in the names of cost-efficiency and productivity, that they should "work twice as much with a wage twice as small, so they elite could enjoy their own double income, preferably without the disturbing intervention by taxes". Put up or shut up.
Nature was dying as the imminent ecocatastrophe was being sped up by great industry. The ozone layer was evaporating, ice caps melting. The sun would scorch the Earth all the time more ferociously, while all over the world floods and raging storms were punishing people as never earlier before. Only a fool would dig up the earth from beneath his feet, and think he could gather together a bigger pile in front of him that way, but it was obvious we were all aboard a ship of fools whose captain was a power-hungry madman.
Was there anything to be done? At the moment, apathy prevailed. People were so brainwashed and alienated by TV and mass entertainment which kept them content enough. All aesthetics had become pornography. No one would bother to subvert; except only for a small minority of discontent activists who were aware and educated, but perhaps they were only in the minority: on a losing run against the oppressive machinery of establishment and powers-that-be. Party politics had become a joke after politicians had been reduced to marionettes and serfs for economic interests of large companies.
Selfishness ruled everywhere: everyone was only interested to grab more and more money. Egocentric individualism and elbow tactics were favoured by the ME ME ME generation; such noble yesteryear ideas as solidarity or empathy had been ditched, and old communities had broke up.
Life everywhere was a blood-thirsty conflict, a struggle for survival. Violence, both mental and physical made the poor and marginalized to turn against each other. Black-on-black crimes, white-on-white crimes, white-on-black crimes, black-on-white-crimes, everyone-on-everyone crimes. All street kids blinded by their MTV-fed dreams of "bling bling" wanted to become gangstas like Tony Montana in Scarface. When walking on the street, you could get battered to death for no purpose at all except for providing cheap thrills for a bunch of disturbed hoods.
LIES LIES LIES LIES LIES
Sebastian luxuriated in his near-orgastic apocalyptic thoughts: we were all doomed, the rich and poor alike; living on numbered days. Thinking of it was like an orgasm in reverse, and Sebastian was a disaster onanist.
Night after night Sebastian would watch rich capitalist bastards gloating on TV, after sacking again thousands of people from their companies, only to keep their precious balances right. This always filled Sebastian with silent, powerless rage. This made him glad too that he was unemployed, and out of the rat race, but for how long? Perhaps he too was to be turned soon into another minimum wage slave by the employment officials, and he had a great future ahead of him cleaning up construction sites to survive. Sometimes he thought he would rather blow his brains out with a shotgun than submit to this.
One day chickens would come home to roost, though: it was inevitable one day oppressed masses would start revolting; when the revolution would come along, these members of economical elite would be slaughtered like pigs they were. Or perhaps the growing poverty and inequality would just pave way for populist politicians and totalitarian fascist-type of dictators. Read history: it all had happened before -- early 20th century Russia and Germany... in the third world countries religious fanaticism turning into terrorist violence. Or maybe there would be a nuclear war sparing no one, a merciful coup de grace to let the world out of its misery.
Sebastian firmly thought the whole Western civilisation (so called) was on the brink of collapse. Economy was overboiling, based on the deception of the notion of ever-growing profits. Every thinking person would see through that bullshit of the Orwellian doublespeak favoured by economists and consultants. These days any real alternatives were narrowed down to few: either play along their game, or perish. Those people who were still not outsourced out of their jobs were preached by the high priests of economy, in the names of cost-efficiency and productivity, that they should "work twice as much with a wage twice as small, so they elite could enjoy their own double income, preferably without the disturbing intervention by taxes". Put up or shut up.
Nature was dying as the imminent ecocatastrophe was being sped up by great industry. The ozone layer was evaporating, ice caps melting. The sun would scorch the Earth all the time more ferociously, while all over the world floods and raging storms were punishing people as never earlier before. Only a fool would dig up the earth from beneath his feet, and think he could gather together a bigger pile in front of him that way, but it was obvious we were all aboard a ship of fools whose captain was a power-hungry madman.
Was there anything to be done? At the moment, apathy prevailed. People were so brainwashed and alienated by TV and mass entertainment which kept them content enough. All aesthetics had become pornography. No one would bother to subvert; except only for a small minority of discontent activists who were aware and educated, but perhaps they were only in the minority: on a losing run against the oppressive machinery of establishment and powers-that-be. Party politics had become a joke after politicians had been reduced to marionettes and serfs for economic interests of large companies.
Selfishness ruled everywhere: everyone was only interested to grab more and more money. Egocentric individualism and elbow tactics were favoured by the ME ME ME generation; such noble yesteryear ideas as solidarity or empathy had been ditched, and old communities had broke up.
Life everywhere was a blood-thirsty conflict, a struggle for survival. Violence, both mental and physical made the poor and marginalized to turn against each other. Black-on-black crimes, white-on-white crimes, white-on-black crimes, black-on-white-crimes, everyone-on-everyone crimes. All street kids blinded by their MTV-fed dreams of "bling bling" wanted to become gangstas like Tony Montana in Scarface. When walking on the street, you could get battered to death for no purpose at all except for providing cheap thrills for a bunch of disturbed hoods.
LIES LIES LIES LIES LIES
Sebastian luxuriated in his near-orgastic apocalyptic thoughts: we were all doomed, the rich and poor alike; living on numbered days. Thinking of it was like an orgasm in reverse, and Sebastian was a disaster onanist.
Thursday, April 14, 2005
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
An Individual In Confrontation With The World, Pt. 8
1 2 3 4 5 6 7
Otto had again met in the elevator that moody, weird kid with piercing eyes, which always made him a bit uneasy, but he forgot the strange young man as soon as he entered the street. Ahead of him was another day of stamping papers, arranging files and staring at computer screen till his myopic eyes hurt. In the evening maybe watching TV, or having a couple of pints in a corner pub before going to sleep. A colourless little life of a colourless little man, notable only for its uneventfulness and drabness; like tens of thousands of similar fates in his hometown of old factories and their harbouring smokestacks. What did rise him above all that was his ability to fantasize.
Women in Otto's office didn't do too much to catch his fancy, being mostly middle-aged wives in their cosy marriages or divorced, or even dry spinster type with their sagging breasts. Otto didn't dedicate many thoughts to them, bar some lukewarm chatter during coffee breaks which he barely ever participated. His mind was occupied with other matters altogether.
It was springtime, and the streets were again filled with miniskirts and high heels. This was the season of the year Otto always loved, though not exactly for blossoming flowers and trees.
It felt like all around Otto he could see voluptuous bodies and luscious lips, heaving bosoms and shaking hips; feisty little vixens and ethereal mirages strolling down the streets waving their designer handbags. Otto thought woman's body was nature's masterwork in design. If asked, if Otto was a breast man, a butt man or a legs man, he would definitely choose buttocks. Those wonderful curvatures and contours of women's juicy bottoms kept Otto endlessly in their thrall. Often on the street, a stealthy erection would rear its ugly head as Otto observed the lower ends of female pedestrians.
Young girls favoured these days stretch jeans which Otto thought just made favourable impressions of their succulent bottoms, shaped like peaches or ripe pears you just wanted to hit your teeth on. Otto didn't mind the girls who were a bit plump in their rear ends; on the contrary, a slight tubbiness in the bottom area would form a delicious sight for his sore eyes. Otto had spent many afternoons admiring and comparing these wonders of Mother Nature. Not only bottoms; also shapeful and fleshy thighs were another obsession of Otto; those divine pillars between which were located those lovely tight slits, the very object of any heterosexual man's secret desire.
Despite his vivid, lustful imagination Otto did not consider himself a type who would harass or intimidate women. Vice versa, he saw himself a sort of polite gentleman, albeit a connoisseur of sort. Nature was meant to be admired, after all, in all its beauty: as they said, nothing in this world was as futile as the pope's balls and nun's nipples.
9
Otto had again met in the elevator that moody, weird kid with piercing eyes, which always made him a bit uneasy, but he forgot the strange young man as soon as he entered the street. Ahead of him was another day of stamping papers, arranging files and staring at computer screen till his myopic eyes hurt. In the evening maybe watching TV, or having a couple of pints in a corner pub before going to sleep. A colourless little life of a colourless little man, notable only for its uneventfulness and drabness; like tens of thousands of similar fates in his hometown of old factories and their harbouring smokestacks. What did rise him above all that was his ability to fantasize.
Women in Otto's office didn't do too much to catch his fancy, being mostly middle-aged wives in their cosy marriages or divorced, or even dry spinster type with their sagging breasts. Otto didn't dedicate many thoughts to them, bar some lukewarm chatter during coffee breaks which he barely ever participated. His mind was occupied with other matters altogether.
It was springtime, and the streets were again filled with miniskirts and high heels. This was the season of the year Otto always loved, though not exactly for blossoming flowers and trees.
It felt like all around Otto he could see voluptuous bodies and luscious lips, heaving bosoms and shaking hips; feisty little vixens and ethereal mirages strolling down the streets waving their designer handbags. Otto thought woman's body was nature's masterwork in design. If asked, if Otto was a breast man, a butt man or a legs man, he would definitely choose buttocks. Those wonderful curvatures and contours of women's juicy bottoms kept Otto endlessly in their thrall. Often on the street, a stealthy erection would rear its ugly head as Otto observed the lower ends of female pedestrians.
Young girls favoured these days stretch jeans which Otto thought just made favourable impressions of their succulent bottoms, shaped like peaches or ripe pears you just wanted to hit your teeth on. Otto didn't mind the girls who were a bit plump in their rear ends; on the contrary, a slight tubbiness in the bottom area would form a delicious sight for his sore eyes. Otto had spent many afternoons admiring and comparing these wonders of Mother Nature. Not only bottoms; also shapeful and fleshy thighs were another obsession of Otto; those divine pillars between which were located those lovely tight slits, the very object of any heterosexual man's secret desire.
Despite his vivid, lustful imagination Otto did not consider himself a type who would harass or intimidate women. Vice versa, he saw himself a sort of polite gentleman, albeit a connoisseur of sort. Nature was meant to be admired, after all, in all its beauty: as they said, nothing in this world was as futile as the pope's balls and nun's nipples.
9
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Paul Auster: The Music of Chance
I just read Paul Auster's excellent Music of Chance (1990). The blurb of this book goes as follows: "Nashe has decided to pursue a 'life of freedom', when he meets Pozzi, an itinerant gambler. Together they go in for an extraordinary game of poker with Flower and Stone, two eccentric recluses living on a vast estate in Pennsylvania. It is a gamble that Nashe and Pozzi will regret for the rest of their lives. The Music of Chance is strange haunting parable by a writer of extraordinary imagination and power".
(Warning: contains some spoilers.)
Jim Nashe is a drifter who quits his job as fireman after receiving a surprise inheritance from his estranged father, sells his property and starts driving around USA aimlessly in his Saab. On the road he chances upon Jack Pozzi, a young master gambler in his early twenties, who has been battered badly by a bunch of businessmen after their poker game was robbed by a gang of masked robbers; the businessmen thinking it was Pozzi who had given a tip of the game to the robbers.
Nashe saves Pozzi, who tells Nashe he's planning a poker game with two millionaires, Flower and Stone, Pozzi mockingly calling them "Laurel and Hardy". Pozzi thinks winning these two dumb millionaires in a game of poker will be a piece of cake, and Nashe, after having become convinced of Pozzi's poker skills, agrees to finance the game with his inheritance money, if he and Pozzi split the pot together.
It turns out Flower and Stone have won themselves 27 million dollars in lottery and bought themselves a large mansion with their award money, where they can dedicate themselves to their peculiar hobbies: the tubby Flower collecting random things that had belonged to famous historical characters, the skinny Stone building a laborious model town, far more sinister than it looks at a first glance.
The game starts at Flower and Stone's mansion, but it turns out Pozzi has somehow underestimated his opponents' skills... what ensues is that Nashe and Pozzi end up being virtually prisoners of Flower and Stone, having to build up a mysterious wall on the millionaires' land to compensate for their gambling debts.
This is a multi-layered book which plot can be compared to the "Theatre of Absurd" and its playwrights like Samuel Beckett, especially his classic Waiting For Godot: in fact, Jack Pozzi's name resembles a character called Pozzo there; Laurel and Hardy-like Stone and Flower have also been compared to Beckett's directionless tramps Vladimir and Estragon in the same play. Jim Nashe and Jack Pozzi are also lonely existential characters who have been condemned to endless drifting without a goal. Chance, as the very name of the book tells, is a very crucial factor here: Nashe, Pozzi, Flower and Stone are all maintained either by inheritance, lottery win or gambling.
What is also typical here for Paul Auster's books, is the elliptical narrative style ("ellipsis, also ellipse: the omission from a sentence of words needed to complete construction or sense"): the reader is never fully explained everything in the plot, these gaps adding to an overall sense of mystery. For example, we can only guess the full meaning of the sinister model town built by Stone; towards the end of book the millionaires Stone and Flower become absent characters (such as Beckett's Godot?) who nevertheless keep pulling on the strings as invisible. Why do Stone and Flower want to build on their property a wall, made up of the bricks of a castle imported from Ireland? And what is Pozzi's final fate, after all?
All in all, as Auster's New York Trilogy (which verged on the edge of metafiction), a wonderful book; quite simple on surface but consisting of very complex themes that keep the reader wondering for a long time after having finished the book.
Monday, April 11, 2005
An Individual In Confrontation With The World, Pt. 7
1 2 3 4 5 6
In the elevator Sebastian met his neighbour called Otto, but the men did not exchange any words. Otto was a civil servant of lower cast, a middle-aged man with sparse light-brown moustache, being slightly obese and balding, and a bachelor at 46. Otto had little piggish eyes covered by rimmed glasses and he was slightly hunched, always wearing a shabby trenchcoat and carrying a worn-out attache case. Everything about Otto told he had seen better days; if there had been better days for him at all. Sebastian always wondered if he was gazing at his own future in Otto.
On the street dust devils whirled, got little fine-grained specks of sand in Sebastian's mouth and made his eyes irritated. Every fucking spring the same thing. During winter they were spreading gravel over icy pavements, so that old grannies would not trip and fall, but come spring, said gravel and sand would be flying all over in the air, making life hell especially for allergics and asthmatics. Gladly weather forecast promised some rains were on their way, but until then, everyone had to suffer under conditions somewhat reminiscing a Sahara sandstorm.
Sebastian had always hated spring, it always drove him crazy, made him either sad and melancholic or unexplainably restless. Probably something to do with hormonal imbalance after a long period of light deprivation, serotonin depletion in the brain, and little things like that, all scientically explainable. Nothing to do with the rabbit-like longing for the opposite sex, of course.
Spring was funny: it apparently made all lunatics and alcoholics to crawl out their holes. One day Sebastian saw a man who was waving to apparently no one, emitting strange animal-like sounds from his throat as if in agony, hitting his head angrily with his fist; obviously to silence the sounds and voices he would hear there? It was scary, everyone on the street seemed to avoid the man. There were also alcoholics earning some extra pennies by washing the display windows of small stores; Sebastian always saw a lot of them carrying their squeegees and buckets of water. Wonderful career opportunities for the post-welfare society, Sebastian thought.
8
In the elevator Sebastian met his neighbour called Otto, but the men did not exchange any words. Otto was a civil servant of lower cast, a middle-aged man with sparse light-brown moustache, being slightly obese and balding, and a bachelor at 46. Otto had little piggish eyes covered by rimmed glasses and he was slightly hunched, always wearing a shabby trenchcoat and carrying a worn-out attache case. Everything about Otto told he had seen better days; if there had been better days for him at all. Sebastian always wondered if he was gazing at his own future in Otto.
On the street dust devils whirled, got little fine-grained specks of sand in Sebastian's mouth and made his eyes irritated. Every fucking spring the same thing. During winter they were spreading gravel over icy pavements, so that old grannies would not trip and fall, but come spring, said gravel and sand would be flying all over in the air, making life hell especially for allergics and asthmatics. Gladly weather forecast promised some rains were on their way, but until then, everyone had to suffer under conditions somewhat reminiscing a Sahara sandstorm.
Sebastian had always hated spring, it always drove him crazy, made him either sad and melancholic or unexplainably restless. Probably something to do with hormonal imbalance after a long period of light deprivation, serotonin depletion in the brain, and little things like that, all scientically explainable. Nothing to do with the rabbit-like longing for the opposite sex, of course.
Spring was funny: it apparently made all lunatics and alcoholics to crawl out their holes. One day Sebastian saw a man who was waving to apparently no one, emitting strange animal-like sounds from his throat as if in agony, hitting his head angrily with his fist; obviously to silence the sounds and voices he would hear there? It was scary, everyone on the street seemed to avoid the man. There were also alcoholics earning some extra pennies by washing the display windows of small stores; Sebastian always saw a lot of them carrying their squeegees and buckets of water. Wonderful career opportunities for the post-welfare society, Sebastian thought.
8
Homenaje, A Tribute to Atocha Blast Victims
This 2-CD, compiled by Andy of Speedranch^Jansky Noise fame, is a tribute to the victims of the terrorist bombing in Madrid's Atocha, 11 March 2004.
I got to know Andy Macgregor, an affable British guy, when he visited my hometown Tampere in August 2003 with his then-girlfriend, who was an ex-pat Finn talking Finnish with British accent and whose relatives lived here. I showed them some local "exotica" and some bars in rainy (and that Saturday night somewhat desolate) Tampere, such as Telakka, Sputnik, and of course Yo-Talo. Andy was quite shocked to hear some (now oh-so-fashionable) Finnish ragga music there, and also amused by a Hesburger hamburger restaurant. Sorry for the culture shock, Andy.
This compilation mostly experimental electronics from such names as V/VM, Francisco Lopez, Tim Hecker, Tim Cascone, and of course Jansky Noise. I informed pHinnWeb's mailing list some time ago Andy was looking also for Finnish artists for this one, but obviously no one here was interested... Those lazy shits!
Anyway, if you're interested about the record, want to hear some of its tracks as MP3s, and perhaps contribute to its possible sequel, please check http://www.110304.com.es/
I got to know Andy Macgregor, an affable British guy, when he visited my hometown Tampere in August 2003 with his then-girlfriend, who was an ex-pat Finn talking Finnish with British accent and whose relatives lived here. I showed them some local "exotica" and some bars in rainy (and that Saturday night somewhat desolate) Tampere, such as Telakka, Sputnik, and of course Yo-Talo. Andy was quite shocked to hear some (now oh-so-fashionable) Finnish ragga music there, and also amused by a Hesburger hamburger restaurant. Sorry for the culture shock, Andy.
This compilation mostly experimental electronics from such names as V/VM, Francisco Lopez, Tim Hecker, Tim Cascone, and of course Jansky Noise. I informed pHinnWeb's mailing list some time ago Andy was looking also for Finnish artists for this one, but obviously no one here was interested... Those lazy shits!
Anyway, if you're interested about the record, want to hear some of its tracks as MP3s, and perhaps contribute to its possible sequel, please check http://www.110304.com.es/
Maxx Klaxon's 'Internationale 2000'
Here is the full-length MP3 of Maxx Klaxon's 'Internationale 2000', an update of the well-known socialist workers' hymn 'Internationale'. You can read more about Maxx Klaxon, a New York electro artist, from this interview I made in 2004.
Our own musical project Kompleksi has created a remix of 'Internationale 2000' together with Tampere's own Tuomas Rantanen, who provided for us relentless, banging and percussive techno monotrax, but I don't know when Maxx will finally get the 12" of remixes out, so this one is yet to be published.
Maxx Klaxon also runs his own blog called Voltage, where you can read more news about his projects and gigs, and about other interesting happenings in the world of electro-pop.
Our own musical project Kompleksi has created a remix of 'Internationale 2000' together with Tampere's own Tuomas Rantanen, who provided for us relentless, banging and percussive techno monotrax, but I don't know when Maxx will finally get the 12" of remixes out, so this one is yet to be published.
Maxx Klaxon also runs his own blog called Voltage, where you can read more news about his projects and gigs, and about other interesting happenings in the world of electro-pop.
Saturday, April 09, 2005
Almost Famous: pHinn Gets Tabloid Fame
The latest issue of Nöjesguiden Finland features DJ Makelove's (Music Is Better) Top 5 music blogs. Alongside http://kleptones.blogspot.com/, http://www.fluxblog.org/, http://www.kidkameleon.com/, http://www.stereogum.com/, also this blog by your humble narrator is mentioned. Wowie-zowie!
Talking about these "city culture" tabloids, in 2001 the City magazine of Tampere, that bastion of all real underground culture and the home of true street credibility, chose yours truly as "The Best Underground Man In Town"... I was sooo proud I almost burst. Now I'm waiting for my invitation to talk shows, my sex life (whenever I only get one) to be exposed in gossip mags, and my external image and habitus to be changed and overhauled on a reality TV show by five style-conscious gay men! And of course getting groupies! Though with my luck those have been so far male electro/techno nerds with various weight/skin problems... nothing against those people, but in the dating sense they are not exactly my own choice. pHinn, a Hugh Hefner in his own mind. Bring out the nubiles!
Har har har. Sorry, last night's brewskis must be still circulating in my brain. Seriously, it's fun when everyone knows you and you know no one. For example last night, when I was checking DJ Infekto's Beatformers party at Yo-Talo, I was sitting alone at my table, when I was joined by these youngsters unknown to me who wanted to say hello to pHinn and tell about their own music projects. But it was cool, they were nice people. As long as it's not drunken idiots babbling their incomprehensible bullshit -- I'm allergic to those, they always bring out the little fascist in me.
I Despise You and I Hate Your Taste in Music
"Go on, make me laugh. Tell me your favourite band/singer/album."
Hours of fun! Holy cows demolished, your fave artists and records smeared here.
Hours of fun! Holy cows demolished, your fave artists and records smeared here.
Friday, April 08, 2005
Eclectro Lounge Gallery
Here is the brand new gallery for the posters/flyers of our Eclectro Lounge nights. Includes also the forthcoming Elektronische Walpurgisnacht event on April 30, 2005. I have wanted to design flyers myself for a long time, but only with Eclectro Lounge I actually had the first chance to do that.
Thursday, April 07, 2005
Citizen Omega: Selfplex
At Eclectro Lounge 8 I got as promo from the artist himself this excellent self-released 2-CDR. Citizen Omega is Mr. Eero Salminen from Vaasa, Finland, where he is also a veteran DJ called Eeroville (a.k.a. DJ Willy). Citizen Omega is another well-kept secret of Finnish electronic scene. A blend of brilliant (and very professional-sounding) electro with vocoder vocals and IDM, this one should find a larger distribution. All serious electroheadz, check Citizen Omega out!
(By the way, our own act, Kompleksi, has also created some tracks in collaboration with Citizen Omega, which can be found on the latest update of our Demo 2004... The tracks are called 'Bioluminescence', 'Gothic Robots', 'Betrayal', '(I Hate Myself For) Loving You', 'Ghost At Noon' and 'No Alternatives'.)
(By the way, our own act, Kompleksi, has also created some tracks in collaboration with Citizen Omega, which can be found on the latest update of our Demo 2004... The tracks are called 'Bioluminescence', 'Gothic Robots', 'Betrayal', '(I Hate Myself For) Loving You', 'Ghost At Noon' and 'No Alternatives'.)
Artist: Citizen Omega
Title: Selfplex
Format: 2-CDR
(I have no idea if this is going to be released also as a "real" CD)
Cat.No.: COCD1
Label: Citizen Omega
Date: Spring 2005
Tracklist:
Disc 1:
1. Headstart I/0.exe
2. Electro Inferno
3. Enough Rules (Who's Fooling Who?)
4. Making Future
5. Youth (featuring Hema)
6. Mister Robot
7. Entertainment (Human Range)
8. Funny Rush Hour
9. Example (featuring Club Telex Noise Ensemble & Chicks on Speed) (*)
10. The Siren Song (Selfish Meme)
11. Redesigner's Public
12. Lelux
Disc 2:
1. Concrete Jungle (Cosmix)
2. Metal Rain
3. TeleVCO Electromantra
4. Solarplex
5. ESP (full length)
6. 38 Bioherz
(*) Track 9 is on the sleeve mistakenly credited to Kompleksi & CoS, should be "feat. Club Telex Noise Ensemble & CoS". This is also Citizen Omega's remix for pHinnMilk label's forthcoming CTNERMX II compilation by Club Telex Noise Ensemble vs. various artists.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
An Individual In Confrontation With The World, Pt. 6
1 2 3 4 5
Sebastian knew a girl named Elsa. Sometimes he wondered if he had a bit of a crush on Elsa, but lately he had been starting to think more and more it was not so. Sebastian was increasingly irritated by Elsa's self-centredness. Every time he met her, she would burst into a monologue consisting of a flood of words about what had been happening in her life lately, not sparing Sebastian from any totally banal detail that he did not find at least a bit interesting. She talked and talked, and Sebastian never actually listened to half of it, just nodded his head to her as if interested. Never did she ask what was up with Sebastian, she would just keep babbling on and on about herself.
Sometimes he wanted to just speak his mind to her, but knowing Elsa he knew probably nothing good would come out of it. Sebastian knew she had her problems and Sebastian his own, and it was wisest not to mix them together. Maybe if she was prevented from her babbling, she would just explode (and she was not the first troubled woman Sebastian had known). Once again Sebastian had to follow the way of self-discipline and self-restraint, so he decided to keep his mouth shut and never to say anything to her. Once hurt, women would never forget.
7
Sebastian knew a girl named Elsa. Sometimes he wondered if he had a bit of a crush on Elsa, but lately he had been starting to think more and more it was not so. Sebastian was increasingly irritated by Elsa's self-centredness. Every time he met her, she would burst into a monologue consisting of a flood of words about what had been happening in her life lately, not sparing Sebastian from any totally banal detail that he did not find at least a bit interesting. She talked and talked, and Sebastian never actually listened to half of it, just nodded his head to her as if interested. Never did she ask what was up with Sebastian, she would just keep babbling on and on about herself.
Sometimes he wanted to just speak his mind to her, but knowing Elsa he knew probably nothing good would come out of it. Sebastian knew she had her problems and Sebastian his own, and it was wisest not to mix them together. Maybe if she was prevented from her babbling, she would just explode (and she was not the first troubled woman Sebastian had known). Once again Sebastian had to follow the way of self-discipline and self-restraint, so he decided to keep his mouth shut and never to say anything to her. Once hurt, women would never forget.
7
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
An Individual In Confrontation With The World, Pt. 5
1 2 3 4
Things seem to have a mysterious symmetry, Sebastian thought. It is as if the whole universe is one gigantic clockwork; events, happenings, incidents taking place in a complex precision, fitting together like pieces in a puzzle. When bad things happen, they seem to happen at once, like falling dominoes. It must be the same with good things, Sebastian pondered, at least he hoped so. What goes up must come down. What is down can't stay that way forever. Universe spinning yarns, weaving them together in a fabric -- or a web.
Remember this, Sebastian, the next time you whimper about your misery; the next time you cry about your unrequited love; the next time your bank account shows near zilch. Because things are never so bad they couldn't be worse, because there is always someone worse off than you.
No one loves the one who whines. Laugh, and the whole world laughs with you. Cry, and you can cry alone. What's up? they ask, but they don't really want to hear. I'm fine, thank you, and how's the weather? -- Aww, shut up with your platitudes already, Sebastian snapped.
The ongoing crisis of an existential young man, the young Werther: what a bore. Young hotheads with their fierce, burning eyes: it's easy to see the world in black and white terms only; there can be no dialectic there.
Children's crusade: old men sending young fanatics to their inevitable deaths. Chinese Culture Revolution 1966: Chairman Mao whipping up the fury of his youthful Red Cadres against the so called bourgeoisie remnants (read: Mao's own political rivals) still left in Communist China. Public confessions and humiliations, so called self-criticism sessions; all traits of mass brainwashing.
Empty souls and meaningless lives are fodder for fascism (under whatever colour), religious fanaticism, stale patriotism, bigoted nationalism. Media-induced mass hysteria and propaganda; lemmings running off the cliff. Surprise, surprise: your hi-tech toys can't buy you happiness, the mantra of ever-expanding economic growth won't lead you to nirvana, Sebastian thought.
Sebastian, you are a preacher and a clown; laughable in all your poignant seriousness, but you can't turn the tide. And all the time there is a creeping suspicion that while you rant and rave at the world's unbearable injustice, life actually goes on somewhere, without you ever noticing it.
You don't have to be Schopenhauer to see one man's accident is another man's luck: that is life's cruel balance. Lord giveth, Lord taketh. Submit to your fate, Sebastian, or keep kicking against the pricks. -- Oh, what sanctimonious crap, Sebastian thought.
6
Things seem to have a mysterious symmetry, Sebastian thought. It is as if the whole universe is one gigantic clockwork; events, happenings, incidents taking place in a complex precision, fitting together like pieces in a puzzle. When bad things happen, they seem to happen at once, like falling dominoes. It must be the same with good things, Sebastian pondered, at least he hoped so. What goes up must come down. What is down can't stay that way forever. Universe spinning yarns, weaving them together in a fabric -- or a web.
Remember this, Sebastian, the next time you whimper about your misery; the next time you cry about your unrequited love; the next time your bank account shows near zilch. Because things are never so bad they couldn't be worse, because there is always someone worse off than you.
No one loves the one who whines. Laugh, and the whole world laughs with you. Cry, and you can cry alone. What's up? they ask, but they don't really want to hear. I'm fine, thank you, and how's the weather? -- Aww, shut up with your platitudes already, Sebastian snapped.
The ongoing crisis of an existential young man, the young Werther: what a bore. Young hotheads with their fierce, burning eyes: it's easy to see the world in black and white terms only; there can be no dialectic there.
Children's crusade: old men sending young fanatics to their inevitable deaths. Chinese Culture Revolution 1966: Chairman Mao whipping up the fury of his youthful Red Cadres against the so called bourgeoisie remnants (read: Mao's own political rivals) still left in Communist China. Public confessions and humiliations, so called self-criticism sessions; all traits of mass brainwashing.
Empty souls and meaningless lives are fodder for fascism (under whatever colour), religious fanaticism, stale patriotism, bigoted nationalism. Media-induced mass hysteria and propaganda; lemmings running off the cliff. Surprise, surprise: your hi-tech toys can't buy you happiness, the mantra of ever-expanding economic growth won't lead you to nirvana, Sebastian thought.
Sebastian, you are a preacher and a clown; laughable in all your poignant seriousness, but you can't turn the tide. And all the time there is a creeping suspicion that while you rant and rave at the world's unbearable injustice, life actually goes on somewhere, without you ever noticing it.
You don't have to be Schopenhauer to see one man's accident is another man's luck: that is life's cruel balance. Lord giveth, Lord taketh. Submit to your fate, Sebastian, or keep kicking against the pricks. -- Oh, what sanctimonious crap, Sebastian thought.
6
Monday, April 04, 2005
Serge Gainsbourg's Anna
I was channel surfing on Friday night, when I caught on TV5 Europe, a French-language cable channel, a weird and surreal Fellini type of sequence with apparently a sort of faux funeral with all sort of peculiar characters and pretty girls frolicking around in 60s pop fashion. I didn't know what the hell that was but it sure looked great. And it also seemed to have Serge Gainsbourg's music! I checked out from newspaper and found out the film was called Anna, and that they were going to re-run it on 11.20 am, Saturday, so I programmed the timer of my VCR, glad that I could check this one in its entirety.
Anna is a made-for-TV film from 1967 directed by Pierre Koralnik, featuring music by French pop's enfant terrible Serge Gainsbourg, and Monsieur Gainsbourg also acting there himself (Marianne Faithfull appears there too). Since I don't know French myself, except for some words and expressions, I only understood about the film that it was about a fashion photographer (Jean-Claude Brierly) and his obsession about a female assistant (played by Anna Karina, familiar from many Jean-Luc Godard's movies) whose blown-up photograph he sees everywhere (with traces of Antonioni's Blow-Up and Hitchcock's Vertigo, perhaps). In fact, you didn't need to know much French, since the plot was quite paper-thin, and the film being actually a musical or even a stylish-looking predecessor of modern music videos. As said, there were some great Fellini-like fantasy scenes and nice examples of 1960s fashion. Ephemeral but très cool.
Soundtrack
Credits @ IMDB
Images @ Google
John Walker Website
Sue H. from England let me know that John Walker (a.k.a. John Maus), the "brother" of God-like Scott Walker (from Walker Bros.), is also still active. John is currently back on the scene again in the UK having had a very successful tour in 2004. You can find his own Website at http://www.john-walker.org/, where you will also find much information on John, complete with full discography.
Saturday, April 02, 2005
FinnSleaze Slightly Updated
For persons over 18 years only:
FinnSleaze page on Finnish men's magazines of 1950s to 1970s has been slightly updated. Who were Tabe Slioor, Urpo Lahtinen, Veikko Ennala and Monsieur Mosse? What did Timo Korppi do? Some answers to this so far under-researched era of yesteryear Finnish sleaze culture here. Hymy, Jallu, Ratto, Kalle, Urkki and other "golden" classics from the times of Finlandization and President Urho "Urkki" Kekkonen here.
FinnSleaze page on Finnish men's magazines of 1950s to 1970s has been slightly updated. Who were Tabe Slioor, Urpo Lahtinen, Veikko Ennala and Monsieur Mosse? What did Timo Korppi do? Some answers to this so far under-researched era of yesteryear Finnish sleaze culture here. Hymy, Jallu, Ratto, Kalle, Urkki and other "golden" classics from the times of Finlandization and President Urho "Urkki" Kekkonen here.
The Absolute Elsewhere: Esoteric Literature
The Absolute Elsewhere: Fantastic, Visionary, and Esoteric Literature in the 1960s and 1970s
by R. T. Gault
"This is a bibliography of visionary, occult, new age, fringe science, strange and even crackpot works published between 1945 and 1988. Added to the mix are some other works which may relate to them, or at least give a sense of the spirit of the times. The main emphasis is upon works produced between 1960 and 1980, as the subtitle suggests."
"Currently available are files covering the years from 1945 to 1979. There are two small files which covers selected titles published before 1949. Keep in mind that the project has been in the works a long time, and continues to change, often on a daily basis."
Juri sent me this link, and I noticed it was already familiar to me by its Morning of the Magicians entry. I quoted this book on I, The Mutant?
On these subjects, I recommend you also to check out Gary Valentine Lachman's Turn Off Your Mind. The Mystic Sixties and the Dark Side of the Age of Aquarius.
Other mystical, esoteric and goofy stuff at pHinnWeb:
Rosemary - The Connection Between Mia Farrow, Sharon Tate, Charlie Manson and The Beatles
pHinnWeb's Neuro Links
by R. T. Gault
"This is a bibliography of visionary, occult, new age, fringe science, strange and even crackpot works published between 1945 and 1988. Added to the mix are some other works which may relate to them, or at least give a sense of the spirit of the times. The main emphasis is upon works produced between 1960 and 1980, as the subtitle suggests."
"Currently available are files covering the years from 1945 to 1979. There are two small files which covers selected titles published before 1949. Keep in mind that the project has been in the works a long time, and continues to change, often on a daily basis."
Juri sent me this link, and I noticed it was already familiar to me by its Morning of the Magicians entry. I quoted this book on I, The Mutant?
On these subjects, I recommend you also to check out Gary Valentine Lachman's Turn Off Your Mind. The Mystic Sixties and the Dark Side of the Age of Aquarius.
Other mystical, esoteric and goofy stuff at pHinnWeb:
Rosemary - The Connection Between Mia Farrow, Sharon Tate, Charlie Manson and The Beatles
pHinnWeb's Neuro Links
Friday, April 01, 2005
Tenticalism collage by Melissa of Chicks on Speed
This is Melissa of Chicks on Speed's collage for Sound and Vision piece of Flaunt magazine, USA.
"Tenticalism: a new movement in getting dirty in many ways because we want to do everything at the once. This was in Barcelona in 2005. This year we move to Innsbruck (Austria), Belgrade (Serbia) and Manchester (UK). Spread the mess."
"rebuild remake retouch. repeat
oh feel a dress, it's felt
bauhaus building is a bird
fashionable garbage, garbage is fashion?
destroy deceive defeat repeat
urban landscape a stage to play
smartass, speak your mind
get in touch
feel the FELT"
"Tenticalism: a new movement in getting dirty in many ways because we want to do everything at the once. This was in Barcelona in 2005. This year we move to Innsbruck (Austria), Belgrade (Serbia) and Manchester (UK). Spread the mess."
"rebuild remake retouch. repeat
oh feel a dress, it's felt
bauhaus building is a bird
fashionable garbage, garbage is fashion?
destroy deceive defeat repeat
urban landscape a stage to play
smartass, speak your mind
get in touch
feel the FELT"
Eclectro Lounge 8
Eclectro Lounge 8 on the last day of March started with a bit of chaos. First me and Mika found out DJ Sane had taken away his CD player from Apadana's DJ booth, which complicated things somehow, since we have both always carried a lot of CDs alongside vinyl with us (DJing with CDs shouldn't kill anyone's street credibility any more in these days when DJs have gone all iPods and MP3s). I was naturally quite pissed off when I found I had also forgotten my headphones home, too. So, I had to return home (perhaps a kilometre or two from Apadana) to fetch them, and by foot. Grumble, grumble, but gladly a little walking in the sunny spring night helped me let off some steam caused by frustration.
The CD player problem gladly solved itself eventually, when my friend, the lovely Taru, who was there, promised to get her own little CD player from home and loan it to us. OK, we found out the RCA cord there was obviously messed up since we could hear only one channel. Nevertheless, having a CD player helped things considerably. La Taru, you're an angel. Smooch!
Checking Eclectro Lounge out was also Eero Salminen a.k.a. Citizen Omega, visiting from his hometown of Vaasa. Eero is a bit similar character to Mika; a DJ who was there already in the rave heyday of early 1990s, and also a great producer who has done electronic music for years with no noticeable commercial success so far. Like Mika, one of Finnish scene's (so far) best-kept secrets, and it's not too far-fetched to say, somewhat a legend too. I got to know Eero during my notorious DJ visit to Vaasa in March 2004, and now we have created as a joint venture project with Citizen Omega and Kompleksi some songs based on Eero's original instrumental tracks, and with our additional production and my vocals (you can hear those on the latest version of our demo). Eero also gave me his fresh new self-released debut 2-CD called Selfplex, which includes among all Citizen Omega's remix for the forthcoming CTNERMX II compilation by Club Telex Noise Ensemble. Some of the tracks, such as 'Mr. Robot' (which I also played at Eclectro Lounge), were already familiar for me from Eero's earlier demos, but I have to say this album sounded just brilliant on my first listening of it; great electro/IDM stuff. Citizen Omega is a name to check out for all you electroheadz.
Well, the rest of the night went just smoothly, and I'm glad Eclectro Lounge seems to have found its dedicated little audience by now. We will now have a month's break with Eclectro Lounge, but our next event will be on Saturday 30 April, the Eve of Mayday and a big celebration night here in Finland. Tentatively, the event will be called "Eclectro Lounge 9: Die Elektronische Walpurgisnacht"...
The tracklist of Eclectro Lounge 8 here.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7
The CD player problem gladly solved itself eventually, when my friend, the lovely Taru, who was there, promised to get her own little CD player from home and loan it to us. OK, we found out the RCA cord there was obviously messed up since we could hear only one channel. Nevertheless, having a CD player helped things considerably. La Taru, you're an angel. Smooch!
Checking Eclectro Lounge out was also Eero Salminen a.k.a. Citizen Omega, visiting from his hometown of Vaasa. Eero is a bit similar character to Mika; a DJ who was there already in the rave heyday of early 1990s, and also a great producer who has done electronic music for years with no noticeable commercial success so far. Like Mika, one of Finnish scene's (so far) best-kept secrets, and it's not too far-fetched to say, somewhat a legend too. I got to know Eero during my notorious DJ visit to Vaasa in March 2004, and now we have created as a joint venture project with Citizen Omega and Kompleksi some songs based on Eero's original instrumental tracks, and with our additional production and my vocals (you can hear those on the latest version of our demo). Eero also gave me his fresh new self-released debut 2-CD called Selfplex, which includes among all Citizen Omega's remix for the forthcoming CTNERMX II compilation by Club Telex Noise Ensemble. Some of the tracks, such as 'Mr. Robot' (which I also played at Eclectro Lounge), were already familiar for me from Eero's earlier demos, but I have to say this album sounded just brilliant on my first listening of it; great electro/IDM stuff. Citizen Omega is a name to check out for all you electroheadz.
Well, the rest of the night went just smoothly, and I'm glad Eclectro Lounge seems to have found its dedicated little audience by now. We will now have a month's break with Eclectro Lounge, but our next event will be on Saturday 30 April, the Eve of Mayday and a big celebration night here in Finland. Tentatively, the event will be called "Eclectro Lounge 9: Die Elektronische Walpurgisnacht"...
The tracklist of Eclectro Lounge 8 here.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7
April Is The Cruelest Month
April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
- T.S. Eliot
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Sunn 0))) -- Aural Chinese Water Torture
Now I can die in peace, for I have seen Sunn 0))), a must for all connoisseurs of Chinese water torture, sticking bamboo needles under your fingernails, or if your idea of a relaxing weekend means being nailed by your testicles to the ceiling.
I arrived too late to see Circle; the infernal Sunn 0))) intro tape of a million decibels was already on, playing from behind the closed curtains of stage, and it must have lasted at least as long as the actual gig. It's a sheer wonder people didn't go nuts from the noise and start killing each other.
Finally the gig started, and I was relieved of the idea that the noise torture would end, but it just all went on and on. Imagine a bunch of guys with guitars in hooded monks' robes playing something (doom-gloom-grindcore-whatever metal; sorry, I'm not really an expert with these genres) that sounds like: "Growl... growl... growl... growl... growl... growl... growl..." and ad nauseam, for a time that feels like a hundred millennia, and you might get close... but only slightly. Like watching "Spinal Tap" on video... frame by frame until you reach your pension age. And all you hipsters, The Wire mag loves them, so be now the coolest kid on your block and check this aural equivalent to Spanish Inquisition out!
One guy growls something that might be the vocals; Satanic invocations from your favourite metal album, played backwards and on 16 RPM (on the other hand, the lyrics might be of the type: "Sugar and spice and everything nice", or something about driving your E-Type Jaguar on Sunset Strip, but how can you tell?).
I swear there was also this little skinny bearded hippie type running around naked in front of stage, but he actually made me think more of Charlie Manson than Jesus; making me wonder if they were going to sacrifice us all to Lucifer to give an appropriate ending to the gig. I heard Tero Viikari of Klubi removed said naturist by grabbing him by the arm and his you-know-what (not without putting on a rubber glove first, understandably).
Maybe you should be on a permanent diet of downers and already half-deaf from tinnitus to be able to appreciate this. Well, I have to admit it really removed wax from my ears, so the benevolent side here must be something of shock therapy style. If you want to torture your family and neighbours, or get rid of unwanted guests who have already worn out their welcome, I recommend you to play a record of Sunn 0))) to them. Or if you're even a biggest sadist, take them to Sunn 0)))'s live gig. For all you aspiring flagellants and people into self-mutilation out there. Of course, one man's torture is other man's orgasm, so sorry to all you Sunn 0))) fans who read this.
I arrived too late to see Circle; the infernal Sunn 0))) intro tape of a million decibels was already on, playing from behind the closed curtains of stage, and it must have lasted at least as long as the actual gig. It's a sheer wonder people didn't go nuts from the noise and start killing each other.
Finally the gig started, and I was relieved of the idea that the noise torture would end, but it just all went on and on. Imagine a bunch of guys with guitars in hooded monks' robes playing something (doom-gloom-grindcore-whatever metal; sorry, I'm not really an expert with these genres) that sounds like: "Growl... growl... growl... growl... growl... growl... growl..." and ad nauseam, for a time that feels like a hundred millennia, and you might get close... but only slightly. Like watching "Spinal Tap" on video... frame by frame until you reach your pension age. And all you hipsters, The Wire mag loves them, so be now the coolest kid on your block and check this aural equivalent to Spanish Inquisition out!
One guy growls something that might be the vocals; Satanic invocations from your favourite metal album, played backwards and on 16 RPM (on the other hand, the lyrics might be of the type: "Sugar and spice and everything nice", or something about driving your E-Type Jaguar on Sunset Strip, but how can you tell?).
I swear there was also this little skinny bearded hippie type running around naked in front of stage, but he actually made me think more of Charlie Manson than Jesus; making me wonder if they were going to sacrifice us all to Lucifer to give an appropriate ending to the gig. I heard Tero Viikari of Klubi removed said naturist by grabbing him by the arm and his you-know-what (not without putting on a rubber glove first, understandably).
Maybe you should be on a permanent diet of downers and already half-deaf from tinnitus to be able to appreciate this. Well, I have to admit it really removed wax from my ears, so the benevolent side here must be something of shock therapy style. If you want to torture your family and neighbours, or get rid of unwanted guests who have already worn out their welcome, I recommend you to play a record of Sunn 0))) to them. Or if you're even a biggest sadist, take them to Sunn 0)))'s live gig. For all you aspiring flagellants and people into self-mutilation out there. Of course, one man's torture is other man's orgasm, so sorry to all you Sunn 0))) fans who read this.
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Eclectro Lounge 7
Eclectro Lounge 7 on Easter Thursday: we were afraid not too many people would attend since there was on the same night a competing event at Telakka called Bass & Beer Party, with some hiphop headliners and a quite popular DJ called Bob Ryynänen playing electro too. Yes, it was quiet early in the night, but gradually some people seemed to move in, probably lured by free entrance, so it was not a disaster either. In fact, our first clients were Sami Koivikko and this nice girl I know called Taru. Though I don't know if Taru was disappointed when I did not play Yoko Ono or Stereo Total's version of Nico's 'Chelsea Girls', but it being Easter, the season of the witch, I felt a bit gloomier music was in order tonight. Sorry if I let you down, Taru, but perhaps some other time... Some young hiphop kids were not aware this was supposed to be an electronic night and asked to hear some rap or reggae, but gladly I got an old school hiphop compilation in my bag, so I could oblige. All in all, playing records in a "lounge" sort of bar and space always has its restrictions; you have to keep yourself down, and can't play as hard stuff as you might like to.
The Obligatory Drunken Idiot Department: after it was Mika's turn to play and for me to take a break, I thought it would be a suitable time to take a leak since my bladder felt like bursting. Unfortunately the men's room was occupied but I felt I couldn't hold myself, and I decided I could sneak in quickly to the ladies' room, which was empty at the time; thinking I could do my business rapidly without anyone taking notice. I was wrong. After I was ready, I washed my hands, and with no towel available I just shook the water off my hands. And lo and behold, when I opened the door, there was a drunken couple behind it, a guy with moustache and a bespectacled woman. When they saw me emerging from the ladies' room, they started to insist from me: "Are you a woman? Are you a woman?" I decided it would be better not to say anything, and just returned back to the DJ booth where Mika was now spinning records. But like this was not enough, suddenly there were more shouts from the ladies' room. The moustache man came to me and said: "What have you done? The floor is all wet!" Probably they thought I had pissed on the floor! The guy started to grill me about it, but I just thought I'd better restrain myself and keep my mouth shut. Gladly Abbas, the manager, just wiped the ladies' room floor clean, and the incident seemed to be over, when said couple soon stormed off the bar. Now this feels funny, but I have learned to keep myself in check always when drunkards are involved, them usually being like little children; impulsive and unpredictable like wild animals.
Now we've got only one Eclectro Lounge club night to go, on Thursday 31 April. After that we should have a monthly night on Fridays, but I don't know when that will happen, since Sane seems to have double-booked our first scheduled date on 8 April... Playing records as such is not so hard, but promoting the event and spreading posters yourself as a foot soldier always is. That's been quite energy-consuming for me; therefore I'm glad to have a break from Eclectro Lounge nights now. Though with my catastrophic money situation it's always nice to get some extra.
Here's the playlist for 24 March '05.
1 2 3 4 5 6
The Obligatory Drunken Idiot Department: after it was Mika's turn to play and for me to take a break, I thought it would be a suitable time to take a leak since my bladder felt like bursting. Unfortunately the men's room was occupied but I felt I couldn't hold myself, and I decided I could sneak in quickly to the ladies' room, which was empty at the time; thinking I could do my business rapidly without anyone taking notice. I was wrong. After I was ready, I washed my hands, and with no towel available I just shook the water off my hands. And lo and behold, when I opened the door, there was a drunken couple behind it, a guy with moustache and a bespectacled woman. When they saw me emerging from the ladies' room, they started to insist from me: "Are you a woman? Are you a woman?" I decided it would be better not to say anything, and just returned back to the DJ booth where Mika was now spinning records. But like this was not enough, suddenly there were more shouts from the ladies' room. The moustache man came to me and said: "What have you done? The floor is all wet!" Probably they thought I had pissed on the floor! The guy started to grill me about it, but I just thought I'd better restrain myself and keep my mouth shut. Gladly Abbas, the manager, just wiped the ladies' room floor clean, and the incident seemed to be over, when said couple soon stormed off the bar. Now this feels funny, but I have learned to keep myself in check always when drunkards are involved, them usually being like little children; impulsive and unpredictable like wild animals.
Now we've got only one Eclectro Lounge club night to go, on Thursday 31 April. After that we should have a monthly night on Fridays, but I don't know when that will happen, since Sane seems to have double-booked our first scheduled date on 8 April... Playing records as such is not so hard, but promoting the event and spreading posters yourself as a foot soldier always is. That's been quite energy-consuming for me; therefore I'm glad to have a break from Eclectro Lounge nights now. Though with my catastrophic money situation it's always nice to get some extra.
Here's the playlist for 24 March '05.
1 2 3 4 5 6
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Pagan Origins of Easter
If it's in your intentions to start celebrating Easter now, it's good to remember that this religious holiday, as are also Christmas and Midsummer celebration -- supposedly in honour of John the Baptist -- is of pagan origin, and only appropriated later on into Christianity.
Many, perhaps most, pagan religions in the Mediterranean area had a major seasonal day of religious celebration at or following the Spring Equinox. Cybele, the Phrygian fertility goddess, had a fictional consort who was believed to have been born via a virgin birth. He was Attis, who was believed to have died and been resurrected each year during the period 22 March to 25 March. About 200 B.C. mystery cults began to appear in Rome just as they had earlier in Greece. Most notable was the Cybele cult centered on Vatican hill. Associated with the Cybele cult was that of her lover, Attis (the older Tammuz, Osiris, Dionysus, or Orpheus under a new name). He was a god of ever-reviving vegetation. Born of a virgin, he died and was reborn annually. The festival began as a day of blood on Black Friday and culminated after three days in a day of rejoicing over the resurrection.
Wherever Christian worship of Jesus and pagan worship of Attis were active in the same geographical area in ancient times, Christians used to celebrate the death and resurrection of Jesus on the same date; and pagans and Christians used to quarrel bitterly about which of their gods was the true prototype and which the imitation.
Many religious historians believe that the death and resurrection legends were first associated with Attis, many centuries before the birth of Jesus. They were simply grafted onto stories of Jesus' life in order to make Christian theology more acceptable to pagans. Others suggest that many of the events in Jesus' life that were recorded in the Gospels were lifted from the life of Krishna, the second person of the Hindu Trinity. Ancient Christians had an alternate explanation; they claimed that Satan (who else?) had created counterfeit deities in advance of the coming of Christ in order to confuse humanity (well, that explains it all then, doesn't it?). Modern-day Christians generally regard the Attis legend as being a pagan myth of little value. They regard Jesus' death and resurrection account as being true, and unrelated to the earlier tradition. Those more free-thinking individuals among us, who consider the Jesus cult of Christianity just another world religion of certain historical perspective and certainly not any more important than, for example, Hinduism or Buddhism, can study this subject with a bit more open-minded attitude.
Pagan fertility festivals at the time of the Spring Equinox were common -- it was believed that at this time, when day and night were of equal length, male and female energies were also in balance. The Easter sunrise service is derived from the ancient pagan practice of welcoming the sun on the morning of the Spring Equinox, marking the beginning of spring. What we now call Easter lilies were revered by the ancients as symbols of fertility and representative of the male genitalia. The ancient Babylonian religions had rituals involving dyed eggs as did the ancient Egyptians.
Wiccans and other modern-day neopagans continue to celebrate the Spring Equinox as one of their 8 yearly Sabbats (holy days of celebration). Near the Mediterranean, this is a time of sprouting of the summer's crop; farther north, it is the time for seeding. Their rituals at the Spring Equinox are related primarily to the fertility of the crops and to the balance of the day and night times. Where wiccans can safely celebrate the Sabbat out of doors without threat of religious persecution, they often incorporate a bonfire into their rituals, jumping over the dying embers is believed to assure fertility of people and crops.
It should also be remembered that here in Scandinavia Easter celebration is strongly associated with witchcraft. In Central Europe, witches are out and about especially on Walpurgis Night, but in the Nordic countries they fly between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, the time when Jesus is still lying in the Garden Tomb behind a sealed stone door. According to popular belief, witches were old women who had sold themselves to the devil. They were much feared, because they had the power to hurt people and domestic animals. In some parts of Western Finland, the custom still remains of burning bonfires on Holy Saturday. This is said to be connected with the age-old habit of scaring witches.
Furthermore, in Palm Sunday, Finnish children dress up as Easter witches, and go from door to door with sprigs of willow in their hands. As a reward for reciting a special verse they are given sweets or money (as a counterpart to the "Trick or treat" tradition of Anglo-American Halloween). Known as virpominen, this ritual was originally a Greek Orthodox custom, familiar to people of that faith in eastern Finland. On Palm Sunday, people went about, lightly lashing their friends and relatives with willow twigs, while reciting a charm to ensure good health and success. The tradition of children dressing up as Easter witches, a figure in local superstitions, was documented in Swedish children's traditions at least a century ago. Thus Finland's modern willowbearing Easter witches combine the Scandinavian witch tradition and the eastern Orthodox virpominen.
Pagan Origins of the Christ Myth, part 1
Pagan Origins of the Christ Myth, part 2
Pagan Origins of the Christ Myth, part 3
Pagan Origins of the Christ Myth, part 4
The Golden Bough: A Study in Magic and Religion by Sir James George Frazer. A monumental study in comparative folklore, magic and religion, The Golden Bough shows parallels between the rites and beliefs, superstitions and taboos of early cultures and those of Christianity. It had a great impact on psychology and literature and remains an early classic anthropological resource.
Many, perhaps most, pagan religions in the Mediterranean area had a major seasonal day of religious celebration at or following the Spring Equinox. Cybele, the Phrygian fertility goddess, had a fictional consort who was believed to have been born via a virgin birth. He was Attis, who was believed to have died and been resurrected each year during the period 22 March to 25 March. About 200 B.C. mystery cults began to appear in Rome just as they had earlier in Greece. Most notable was the Cybele cult centered on Vatican hill. Associated with the Cybele cult was that of her lover, Attis (the older Tammuz, Osiris, Dionysus, or Orpheus under a new name). He was a god of ever-reviving vegetation. Born of a virgin, he died and was reborn annually. The festival began as a day of blood on Black Friday and culminated after three days in a day of rejoicing over the resurrection.
Wherever Christian worship of Jesus and pagan worship of Attis were active in the same geographical area in ancient times, Christians used to celebrate the death and resurrection of Jesus on the same date; and pagans and Christians used to quarrel bitterly about which of their gods was the true prototype and which the imitation.
Many religious historians believe that the death and resurrection legends were first associated with Attis, many centuries before the birth of Jesus. They were simply grafted onto stories of Jesus' life in order to make Christian theology more acceptable to pagans. Others suggest that many of the events in Jesus' life that were recorded in the Gospels were lifted from the life of Krishna, the second person of the Hindu Trinity. Ancient Christians had an alternate explanation; they claimed that Satan (who else?) had created counterfeit deities in advance of the coming of Christ in order to confuse humanity (well, that explains it all then, doesn't it?). Modern-day Christians generally regard the Attis legend as being a pagan myth of little value. They regard Jesus' death and resurrection account as being true, and unrelated to the earlier tradition. Those more free-thinking individuals among us, who consider the Jesus cult of Christianity just another world religion of certain historical perspective and certainly not any more important than, for example, Hinduism or Buddhism, can study this subject with a bit more open-minded attitude.
Pagan fertility festivals at the time of the Spring Equinox were common -- it was believed that at this time, when day and night were of equal length, male and female energies were also in balance. The Easter sunrise service is derived from the ancient pagan practice of welcoming the sun on the morning of the Spring Equinox, marking the beginning of spring. What we now call Easter lilies were revered by the ancients as symbols of fertility and representative of the male genitalia. The ancient Babylonian religions had rituals involving dyed eggs as did the ancient Egyptians.
Wiccans and other modern-day neopagans continue to celebrate the Spring Equinox as one of their 8 yearly Sabbats (holy days of celebration). Near the Mediterranean, this is a time of sprouting of the summer's crop; farther north, it is the time for seeding. Their rituals at the Spring Equinox are related primarily to the fertility of the crops and to the balance of the day and night times. Where wiccans can safely celebrate the Sabbat out of doors without threat of religious persecution, they often incorporate a bonfire into their rituals, jumping over the dying embers is believed to assure fertility of people and crops.
It should also be remembered that here in Scandinavia Easter celebration is strongly associated with witchcraft. In Central Europe, witches are out and about especially on Walpurgis Night, but in the Nordic countries they fly between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, the time when Jesus is still lying in the Garden Tomb behind a sealed stone door. According to popular belief, witches were old women who had sold themselves to the devil. They were much feared, because they had the power to hurt people and domestic animals. In some parts of Western Finland, the custom still remains of burning bonfires on Holy Saturday. This is said to be connected with the age-old habit of scaring witches.
Furthermore, in Palm Sunday, Finnish children dress up as Easter witches, and go from door to door with sprigs of willow in their hands. As a reward for reciting a special verse they are given sweets or money (as a counterpart to the "Trick or treat" tradition of Anglo-American Halloween). Known as virpominen, this ritual was originally a Greek Orthodox custom, familiar to people of that faith in eastern Finland. On Palm Sunday, people went about, lightly lashing their friends and relatives with willow twigs, while reciting a charm to ensure good health and success. The tradition of children dressing up as Easter witches, a figure in local superstitions, was documented in Swedish children's traditions at least a century ago. Thus Finland's modern willowbearing Easter witches combine the Scandinavian witch tradition and the eastern Orthodox virpominen.
Pagan Origins of the Christ Myth, part 1
Pagan Origins of the Christ Myth, part 2
Pagan Origins of the Christ Myth, part 3
Pagan Origins of the Christ Myth, part 4
The Golden Bough: A Study in Magic and Religion by Sir James George Frazer. A monumental study in comparative folklore, magic and religion, The Golden Bough shows parallels between the rites and beliefs, superstitions and taboos of early cultures and those of Christianity. It had a great impact on psychology and literature and remains an early classic anthropological resource.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
USO's Richard D. Anderson Album Review @ MIR
(Hey, MIR guys, hope you don't mind me reprinting this here...?)
Dilettante's Digest
Musically Incorrect Fanzine #2
USO: Richard D. Anderson Album (CD-R, pHinnMilk)
It's nice that not all experimental underground coming from Finland nowadays is untalented "forest folk" shit. USO utilizes some acoustic guitars, too, but mostly it's electronic stuff. Combining elements of Beck (does anybody remember him?) at his most experimental, poor man's Aphex Twin, all other kinds of weirdness, and ironic takes on different kinds of music, this is surely different, experimental and goofy. That, however, is not really my thing. I appreciate the effort and care put into this, and there are some good moments, but as a whole this has a bit too
much of a art school vibe for me.
Pekka PT
http://mir.blogdns.com/
Mika Vainio Wrestles Chicks on Speed
What Is Music 2005
Melbourne, Australia, various venues
The initial visceral thrill of hearing Pan Sonic's stentorian electronics flooding the room, bursts of white noise scarifying huge edifices of primal rhythm, eventually gave way to a tiresome structure -- insert beat, efface with scouring distortion, repeat process. Pan Sonic's Mika Vainio did offer one of the festival's most enduring moments, invading the stage and wrestling with members of Chicks On Speed during the latter group's punk-electro number "Turn Of The Century". The Chicks's show is usually pure pleasure, but the trio looked as though they were going through the motions, until the shuffle-tech of "Fashion Rules" shocked them into overdrive.
- from live review by Jon Dale, The Wire, April 2004
An Individual In Confrontation With The World, Pt. 4
1 2 3
That night Sebastian dreamt he was at the gates of Hell. He could hear the lament and wailing of souls, smell the sulphur and putrescent flesh. A three-headed dog with its eyes like flaming embers showed its teeth to Sebastian and growled at him as invisible demons pushed him on. Meat hooks tore Sebastian's bare flesh but even that didn't hurt as much as being in love had been.
The greatest of demons -- maybe Lucifer, the Light-Bringer himself -- among the others who called themselves Baphomet, Samael, Azrael and legions of other names, spoke to Sebastian:
"I will ride you to the end of your days, as Crowley rode Neuburg. You will forever wander those barren streets and lifeless deserts of concrete where no flower shall blossom nor a bird sing. You will never know woman's love or anyone's friendship. People will loathe you and curse your name. You will be eternally trapped in the prison of your fragmenting mind as your body withers and fades away, but still does not die to release you from your suffering. Your notebooks will be filled with pathetic clichés and banalities, with not one single trace of originality. Your days will be empty and your nights lonely."
Sebastian woke up soaking in sweat. The spring sun was already up like a burning, angry eye in the sky; easter eggs hatching serpents. Sebastian swore he would never again eat pepperoni pizza and watch Hellraiser on video just before he went to sleep.
5
That night Sebastian dreamt he was at the gates of Hell. He could hear the lament and wailing of souls, smell the sulphur and putrescent flesh. A three-headed dog with its eyes like flaming embers showed its teeth to Sebastian and growled at him as invisible demons pushed him on. Meat hooks tore Sebastian's bare flesh but even that didn't hurt as much as being in love had been.
The greatest of demons -- maybe Lucifer, the Light-Bringer himself -- among the others who called themselves Baphomet, Samael, Azrael and legions of other names, spoke to Sebastian:
"I will ride you to the end of your days, as Crowley rode Neuburg. You will forever wander those barren streets and lifeless deserts of concrete where no flower shall blossom nor a bird sing. You will never know woman's love or anyone's friendship. People will loathe you and curse your name. You will be eternally trapped in the prison of your fragmenting mind as your body withers and fades away, but still does not die to release you from your suffering. Your notebooks will be filled with pathetic clichés and banalities, with not one single trace of originality. Your days will be empty and your nights lonely."
Sebastian woke up soaking in sweat. The spring sun was already up like a burning, angry eye in the sky; easter eggs hatching serpents. Sebastian swore he would never again eat pepperoni pizza and watch Hellraiser on video just before he went to sleep.
5
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Jorge Luis Borges and the Gaia Hypothesis
Borges (the author of The Aleph) writes:
This idea of Earth as a living organism, fits in also with James Lovelock's Gaia Hypothesis, which he first publicised in his 1979 book Gaia: A New Look at Life on Earth.
Born in 1919, James Lovelock was educated at the University of London and Manchester University and holds a Ph.D. in medicine. In the United States he has taught at Yale, the Baylor University College of Medicine, and at Harvard University. Some of his inventions were adopted by NASA in their program of planetary exploration. It was while working for NASA that Dr Lovelock has developed the Gaia Hypothesis.
In collaboration with other NASA project researchers, Lovelock predicted the absence of life on Mars based on the consideration of the Martian atmosphere and its state of being in a chemically dead equilibrium. In contrast, the Terran atmosphere is in a chemical state described as being far from equilibrium. The unlikely balance of atmospheric gases which comprise the Earth's atmosphere is quite unique in our solar system. This fact would be clearly visible to any extra-terrestrial observer, by comparison of the images of the planets Venus, Earth and Mars.
What was happening upon the Earth which enabled the maintenance of such an unlikely combination of chemical gases -- specifically nitrogen and oxygen. What complex processes are at work within the terrestrial atmosphere -- and have occurred for many billions of years -- to explain this uniqueness? How have these processes arisen and what today maintains these processes at this equilibrium which is chemically far from equilibrium?
In the late 1960's Lovelock took the first steps in answering these questions by considering the the beginnings of life upon the planet Earth. The earliest of life-forms existed in the ancient oceans and were the smallest and the simplest -- less than single celled. Contemporary microbiological research points to the fact that almost 3 billion years ago, bacteria and photosynthetic algae began extracting the carbon dioxide from the atmosphere and releasing oxygen back into it. Gradually -- over vast geological time spans -- the atmospheric chemical content was altered away from the dominance of carbon dioxide, towards the dominance of a mixture of nitrogen and oxygen -- towards an atmosphere which would favorably support organic life powered by aerobic combustion -- such as animals and mankind.
So it was then that Dr James Lovelock, in looking for the evidence of extra-terrestrial life on Mars, observed the Earth as might an extra-terrestrial, and began to formulate a method of explanation as to why the Earth appeared therefore to be not so much a planet adorned with diverse life forms, but a planet which had been transfigured and transformed by a self-evolving and self-regulating living system. In view of the nature of this activity, Earth seemed to qualify as a living being its own right. And so the hypothesis took its initial form. And as the story goes, while on a walk in the countryside about his home in Wilshire, England, Lovelock described his hypothesis to his neighbour William Golding (the novelist of Lord of the Flies fame), and asked advise concerning a suitable name for it. The resultant term "Gaia" -- after the Greek goddess who drew the living world forth from Chaos -- was chosen. However, there was a big difference between postulating such a grand schemed hypothesis and having it accepted by the traditional scientific community, and there remained much research work to be done in order to be able to more clearly specify the entirety of the processes by which the modern planetary atmosphere had been evolved and was continuing to be evolved. And in this task, in the early years of his further research concerning the Gaia hypothesis, Lovelock was supported by the collaboration of Dr Lynn Margulis, a leading and forward thinking American microbiologist.
And not to forget about the worshipping of "Mother Earth" (or Goddess) in certain ancient cultures, either, which has been revived in the later years in the paganist, ecologist and feminist circles.
More on the Gaia Hypothesis:
The Gaia Hypothesis:
A Resource compilation of scientific commentary on the work of Lovelock
The Gaia Hypothesis in Finnish
Animals in the Form of Spheres
The sphere is the most uniform of solid bodies since every point on its surface is equidistant from its centre. Because of this, and because of its ability to revolve on an axis without straying from a fixed place, Plato (Timaeus, 33) approved the judgment of the Demiurge, who gave the world a spherical shape. Plato thought the world to be a living being and in the Laws (898) stated that the planets and stars were living as well. In this way, he enriched fantastic zoology with vast spherical animals and cast aspersions on those slow-witted astronomers who failed to understand that the circular course of heavenly bodies was voluntary.
In Alexandria over five hundred years later, Origen, one of the Fathers of the Church, taught that the blessed would come back to life in the form of spheres and would enter rolling into Heaven.
During the Renaissance, the idea of Heaven as an animal reappared in Lucilio Vanini; the Neoplatonist Marsilio Ficino spoke of the hair, teeth, and bones of the Earth; and Giardano Bruno felt that the planets were great peaceful animals, warm-blooded, with regular habits, and endowed with reason. At the beginning of the seventeenth century, the German astronomer Johannes Kepler debated with the English mystic Robert Fludd which of them had first conceived the notion of the earth as a living monster, 'whose whalelike breathing, changing with sleep and wakefulness, produces the ebb and flow of the sea'. The anatomy, the feeding habits, the colour, the memory, and the imaginative and shaping faculties of the monster were sedulously studied by Kepler.
In the nineteenth century, the German psychologist Gustav Theodor Fechner (a man praised by William James in his A Pluralistic Universe) rethought the preceding ideas with all the earnestness of a child. Anyone not belittling his hypothesis that the earth, our mother, is an organism -- an organism superior to plants, animals, and men -- may look into the pious pages of Fechner's Zend-Avesta. There we read, for example, that the earth's spherical shape is that of the human eye, the noblest organ of our body. Also, that 'if the sky is really the home of angels, these angels are obviously the stars, for the sky has no other inhabitants'.
- Jorge Luis Borges: The Book of Imaginary Beings
This idea of Earth as a living organism, fits in also with James Lovelock's Gaia Hypothesis, which he first publicised in his 1979 book Gaia: A New Look at Life on Earth.
Born in 1919, James Lovelock was educated at the University of London and Manchester University and holds a Ph.D. in medicine. In the United States he has taught at Yale, the Baylor University College of Medicine, and at Harvard University. Some of his inventions were adopted by NASA in their program of planetary exploration. It was while working for NASA that Dr Lovelock has developed the Gaia Hypothesis.
In collaboration with other NASA project researchers, Lovelock predicted the absence of life on Mars based on the consideration of the Martian atmosphere and its state of being in a chemically dead equilibrium. In contrast, the Terran atmosphere is in a chemical state described as being far from equilibrium. The unlikely balance of atmospheric gases which comprise the Earth's atmosphere is quite unique in our solar system. This fact would be clearly visible to any extra-terrestrial observer, by comparison of the images of the planets Venus, Earth and Mars.
What was happening upon the Earth which enabled the maintenance of such an unlikely combination of chemical gases -- specifically nitrogen and oxygen. What complex processes are at work within the terrestrial atmosphere -- and have occurred for many billions of years -- to explain this uniqueness? How have these processes arisen and what today maintains these processes at this equilibrium which is chemically far from equilibrium?
In the late 1960's Lovelock took the first steps in answering these questions by considering the the beginnings of life upon the planet Earth. The earliest of life-forms existed in the ancient oceans and were the smallest and the simplest -- less than single celled. Contemporary microbiological research points to the fact that almost 3 billion years ago, bacteria and photosynthetic algae began extracting the carbon dioxide from the atmosphere and releasing oxygen back into it. Gradually -- over vast geological time spans -- the atmospheric chemical content was altered away from the dominance of carbon dioxide, towards the dominance of a mixture of nitrogen and oxygen -- towards an atmosphere which would favorably support organic life powered by aerobic combustion -- such as animals and mankind.
So it was then that Dr James Lovelock, in looking for the evidence of extra-terrestrial life on Mars, observed the Earth as might an extra-terrestrial, and began to formulate a method of explanation as to why the Earth appeared therefore to be not so much a planet adorned with diverse life forms, but a planet which had been transfigured and transformed by a self-evolving and self-regulating living system. In view of the nature of this activity, Earth seemed to qualify as a living being its own right. And so the hypothesis took its initial form. And as the story goes, while on a walk in the countryside about his home in Wilshire, England, Lovelock described his hypothesis to his neighbour William Golding (the novelist of Lord of the Flies fame), and asked advise concerning a suitable name for it. The resultant term "Gaia" -- after the Greek goddess who drew the living world forth from Chaos -- was chosen. However, there was a big difference between postulating such a grand schemed hypothesis and having it accepted by the traditional scientific community, and there remained much research work to be done in order to be able to more clearly specify the entirety of the processes by which the modern planetary atmosphere had been evolved and was continuing to be evolved. And in this task, in the early years of his further research concerning the Gaia hypothesis, Lovelock was supported by the collaboration of Dr Lynn Margulis, a leading and forward thinking American microbiologist.
"The entire range of living matter on Earth from whales to viruses and from oaks to algae could be regarded as constituting a single living entity capable of maintaining the Earth's atmosphere to suit its overall needs and endowed with faculties and powers far beyond those of its constituent parts...[Gaia can be defined] as a complex entity involving the Earth's biosphere, atmosphere, oceans, and soil; the totality constituting a feedback of cybernetic systems which seeks an optimal physical and chemical environment for life on this planet."
"To what extent is our collective intelligence also a part of Gaia? Do we as a species constitute a Gaian nervous system and a brain which can consciously anticipate environmental changes?"
And not to forget about the worshipping of "Mother Earth" (or Goddess) in certain ancient cultures, either, which has been revived in the later years in the paganist, ecologist and feminist circles.
More on the Gaia Hypothesis:
The Gaia Hypothesis:
A Resource compilation of scientific commentary on the work of Lovelock
The Gaia Hypothesis in Finnish
Monday, March 21, 2005
An Individual In Confrontation With The World, Pt. 3
2
Sebastian always paid attention to alcoholics, winos, drunkards, bums, borderline psychotics, and those schizophrenics left loose from asylums because of budget cuts. Sebastian saw on the street a little man shuffling along with crutches: life had passed him by, fate had kicked him in the head.
Bottle collectors with their bicycles would patrol the town streets every Saturday night, picking up empty bottles partygoers had left lying on pavement. Come Monday, some extra coins would be made from the bottles at supermarkets and liquor stores: a nice addition to the dole money and scant pensions.
How did marginalization start? Was there some crucial blow at some decisive stage of life, after which it was all a downhill road, or were some people just born to lose? Was every one of us part of some vicious social-Darwinistic experiment?
Mr. Average, a little bourgeois man was so full of his fears, prejudices and projected fears that he couldn't see beyond them, so he lived his life trapped in them, with no way out. Sebastian understood this clearly, but did not think he would be any better than that.
Being somewhat a fatalist, Sebastian had learned not to be afraid of death. Mystics said there was no death; only a transition from one energy level to another. Sebastian did not know what to make out of it. On the other hand, if all consciousness just evaporated after death as atheists thought, it might not be so bad, either. After all, existing consisted of so much misery and pain, that just vanishing totally and ceasing all thinking, emoting and being sounded only all too merciful.
Sebastian had thought about committing suicide a lot when he was younger. Not a month had passed by without a thought of ending it once and for all. These days, the thought occurred very rarely to him; probably all therapy and medication had done their work. Life wasn't that dramatic any more, merely lukewarm mostly. And there had been already too much pain in the lives of his close ones that he wouldn't like to add to it. Sebastian could well describe himself an ex-suicide candidate. Still, sometimes he wondered.
4
Sebastian always paid attention to alcoholics, winos, drunkards, bums, borderline psychotics, and those schizophrenics left loose from asylums because of budget cuts. Sebastian saw on the street a little man shuffling along with crutches: life had passed him by, fate had kicked him in the head.
Bottle collectors with their bicycles would patrol the town streets every Saturday night, picking up empty bottles partygoers had left lying on pavement. Come Monday, some extra coins would be made from the bottles at supermarkets and liquor stores: a nice addition to the dole money and scant pensions.
How did marginalization start? Was there some crucial blow at some decisive stage of life, after which it was all a downhill road, or were some people just born to lose? Was every one of us part of some vicious social-Darwinistic experiment?
Mr. Average, a little bourgeois man was so full of his fears, prejudices and projected fears that he couldn't see beyond them, so he lived his life trapped in them, with no way out. Sebastian understood this clearly, but did not think he would be any better than that.
Being somewhat a fatalist, Sebastian had learned not to be afraid of death. Mystics said there was no death; only a transition from one energy level to another. Sebastian did not know what to make out of it. On the other hand, if all consciousness just evaporated after death as atheists thought, it might not be so bad, either. After all, existing consisted of so much misery and pain, that just vanishing totally and ceasing all thinking, emoting and being sounded only all too merciful.
Sebastian had thought about committing suicide a lot when he was younger. Not a month had passed by without a thought of ending it once and for all. These days, the thought occurred very rarely to him; probably all therapy and medication had done their work. Life wasn't that dramatic any more, merely lukewarm mostly. And there had been already too much pain in the lives of his close ones that he wouldn't like to add to it. Sebastian could well describe himself an ex-suicide candidate. Still, sometimes he wondered.
4
An Individual In Confrontation With The World, Pt. 2
1
One could say Sebastian was anti-authoritarian. This puzzled him very much, since a person of his age was not supposed to behave like an adolescent kid any more. A sense of injustice, both common and personal, was still only too strong. For example, he felt his boss had never respected him too much, which was one reason Sebastian's disliking the idea of ever having another wage job.
When he was a child, Sebastian had always been a good boy. Well, mostly, but he never got into any real trouble with authorities. When other kids made a row or had their adolescent revolt against the teachers -- after some more successful attempts by the rowdier pupils, more sensitive female lecturers had left the class in tears -- Sebastian had always conformed. It was easy to manage through the education system when one let the others do all real thinking for oneself. Rebelling too visibly only led into trouble, it was too much effort. Now Sebastian felt he had really been in sleep through all these years, his real self never emerging.
Sebastian's grandmother was the real matriarch in his family, a woman with very strong opinions if not downright disciplinarian, and Sebastian gradually learned never to argue with her. You see, grandmother was a master in manipulating people with guilt, and Sebastian who disagreed with grandma's dominating manoeuvres was always duly informed that he was merely an "ungrateful child".
3
One could say Sebastian was anti-authoritarian. This puzzled him very much, since a person of his age was not supposed to behave like an adolescent kid any more. A sense of injustice, both common and personal, was still only too strong. For example, he felt his boss had never respected him too much, which was one reason Sebastian's disliking the idea of ever having another wage job.
When he was a child, Sebastian had always been a good boy. Well, mostly, but he never got into any real trouble with authorities. When other kids made a row or had their adolescent revolt against the teachers -- after some more successful attempts by the rowdier pupils, more sensitive female lecturers had left the class in tears -- Sebastian had always conformed. It was easy to manage through the education system when one let the others do all real thinking for oneself. Rebelling too visibly only led into trouble, it was too much effort. Now Sebastian felt he had really been in sleep through all these years, his real self never emerging.
Sebastian's grandmother was the real matriarch in his family, a woman with very strong opinions if not downright disciplinarian, and Sebastian gradually learned never to argue with her. You see, grandmother was a master in manipulating people with guilt, and Sebastian who disagreed with grandma's dominating manoeuvres was always duly informed that he was merely an "ungrateful child".
3
Chicks on Speed at Triangle Club, Tokyo
Chicks on Speed at Tokyo Triangle Club shots;
again via Alex of Cos:
Matthew Jonson and Alex
Shot before the show
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
See also Scanner FM story and MTV Asia interview.phinnweb.org/2005
again via Alex of Cos:
Matthew Jonson and Alex
Shot before the show
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
See also Scanner FM story and MTV Asia interview.phinnweb.org/2005
Saturday, March 19, 2005
Attention Economy
Everyone wants to be a celebrity these days. Even if one doesn't get to appear on a reality TV show or Idols, Popstars or Do You Want To Be A Millionaire, one can maintain a blog on the Internet. Nothing is too trivial or banal there: may I have your attention, ladies and gentlemen?
Let me bore you to death in the course of these following columns of personal tedium and with my ill-advised opinions no one wants to hear. Let me share with you the deadening details of the drudgery of my everyday existence. Join me in my latest nerve-wrecking neurosis and existential ennui. Do you really want to hear the explicit details of my excursion to a grocery store today or of my exciting adventures in the lift (that's "elevator" for you Merkins)? Well, countless blogists around the world seem to think so. Everyday life has become the Spectacle.
Everyone has become a brand in the so called attention economy, which feeds unbridled narcissism. A marketing-consultant-cum-lifestyle-guru in his neatly cut tailor-made suit earning thousands of euros for one hour's "lecture"; spouting for full auditoriums of CEOs platitudes of "finding one's inner hero", and receiving a standing ovation from his corporate fans.
Pseudo-celebrities whose sole claim to fame simply is that they're famous, but no one knows what for. Garish gossip mags feed off these people -- their marital crises, alcohol problems, eating disorders -- though the relationship here is not really parasitic but symbiotic. A pseudo-celebrity can't exist without the constant spotlight of publicity; otherwise she will wither like an untended flower.
I think pHinnWeb is an anti-brand, and pHinn an anti-celebrity. I am amused by the thought of someone reading any of these lines, and attaching them with "a deeper meaning", though, like everyone else, I'm fascinated with "the ecstasy of communication". The centre is eveywhere, and everyone can be a guru. May I have your attention, ladies and gentlemen?
Let me bore you to death in the course of these following columns of personal tedium and with my ill-advised opinions no one wants to hear. Let me share with you the deadening details of the drudgery of my everyday existence. Join me in my latest nerve-wrecking neurosis and existential ennui. Do you really want to hear the explicit details of my excursion to a grocery store today or of my exciting adventures in the lift (that's "elevator" for you Merkins)? Well, countless blogists around the world seem to think so. Everyday life has become the Spectacle.
Everyone has become a brand in the so called attention economy, which feeds unbridled narcissism. A marketing-consultant-cum-lifestyle-guru in his neatly cut tailor-made suit earning thousands of euros for one hour's "lecture"; spouting for full auditoriums of CEOs platitudes of "finding one's inner hero", and receiving a standing ovation from his corporate fans.
Pseudo-celebrities whose sole claim to fame simply is that they're famous, but no one knows what for. Garish gossip mags feed off these people -- their marital crises, alcohol problems, eating disorders -- though the relationship here is not really parasitic but symbiotic. A pseudo-celebrity can't exist without the constant spotlight of publicity; otherwise she will wither like an untended flower.
I think pHinnWeb is an anti-brand, and pHinn an anti-celebrity. I am amused by the thought of someone reading any of these lines, and attaching them with "a deeper meaning", though, like everyone else, I'm fascinated with "the ecstasy of communication". The centre is eveywhere, and everyone can be a guru. May I have your attention, ladies and gentlemen?
Friday, March 18, 2005
Kari Sipilä
Juri provided info on some Kari Sipilä's early 1970s hippie comic books on Mysteeni Publications. It would be interesting to find more info on Mr. Sipilä's works. Anyone? For more information, see Jorma Elovaara & The Finnish Age of Aquarius.
An example of Kari Sipilä's art
Author: Kari Sipilä
Title: Zen 1: Aika Ibizalla
Published: Helsinki : Mysteeni r.y, 1972
26 p : 21 cm
Author: Kari Sipilä
Title: Zen 2: Sarjakuvia
Published: Helsinki: Mysteeni r.y, 1975
25 p : 21 cm
("Tähti" : an occultist magazine ; 1972: 5.)
An example of Kari Sipilä's art
F***ing USA
"This is a very shocking anti-American propaganda video which is said to have been made by North Koreans and previously broadcast on South Korean television and Japanese TV."
http://www.robpongi.com/pages/comboFUCKINGUSAHI.html
http://www.robpongi.com/pages/comboFUCKINGUSAHI.html
Eclectro Lounge 6
I don't know if I'm some sort of idiot savant, or just a plain idiot. Eclectro Lounge 6 last night was very much like most Eclectro Lounges lately. Not too many people attending, but what is different compared to my previous depression because of the lack of people at recent clubs, this time I had learned to resign to my fate. Well, at least Abbas, the Iranian manager of Apadana seemed to like our music.
I don't know what's happening, but most things seem to leave me these days untouched and emotionally detached. I'm too tired to even feel angst most of the times: I feel like living inside a giant cotton ball; blood is seeping through occasionally but that's just OK for me. Someone hit the fast forward button without telling me, and I don't know if I'm even keeping up with my own life. Well, but is it too bad if one is an observer even for one's own life? Anyway, we've still got two more weekly Eclectro Lounge nights to go this March; then from April on, we are going to have only one Friday monthly (the first one of this new order will be 8 April).
Here's the playlist.
Eclectro Lounge 5
Eclectro Lounge 4
Eclectro Lounge 3
Eclectro Lounge 2
Eclectro Lounge 1
I don't know what's happening, but most things seem to leave me these days untouched and emotionally detached. I'm too tired to even feel angst most of the times: I feel like living inside a giant cotton ball; blood is seeping through occasionally but that's just OK for me. Someone hit the fast forward button without telling me, and I don't know if I'm even keeping up with my own life. Well, but is it too bad if one is an observer even for one's own life? Anyway, we've still got two more weekly Eclectro Lounge nights to go this March; then from April on, we are going to have only one Friday monthly (the first one of this new order will be 8 April).
Here's the playlist.
Eclectro Lounge 5
Eclectro Lounge 4
Eclectro Lounge 3
Eclectro Lounge 2
Eclectro Lounge 1
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