"Smells Like Teen Spirit" by Nirvana for Class

Just finished taking Cultural History of Rock and Roll at school. College is cool like that. We finished the class with a discussion of Seattle grunge and especially Nirvana. My teacher decided to end there because it's kind of the most recent big deal in rock and roll, the whole slacker scene and the celebration of depression and impotence and being able to get a kick out of life without any big ideas. It was profound. The last question posed in class was what's happened in the rock scene since the nineties? The class inspired two thoughts.

The first thought I'm thinking is an answer to what's happening in rock and roll since the nineties. It's a fair question. The easy answer is quite a lot. Bands are always appearing on the scene and ripping up the stage, feeding us the next new and hip thing, and sticking it to whichever man they've decided to lampoon. After the hardcore scene during the eighties, however, and the college rock grew from rock and rollers who weren't as angry--R.E.M. and such--and Seattle spawned grunge in the eighties, pretty much all boundaries broke. Nothing is sacred anymore and everything is fair game. Everything is in equal amounts shocking to someone, which makes everything, really, equally tame. Whatever your taste is, there is that kind of rock and roll somewhere. All you have to do is wade through everything else till you find it. One answer to "what's happening with rock and roll?": everything. Everything that was happening is now happening. Now, different than ever, it's all allowed. Kind of strange but true.

A nuance on this idea that everything goes is everything goes everywhere. Rock and roll, always a global thing, has mostly been produced in America. Britain tended to absorb and speed up and push the envelope for any new movement that arose--the spirit of fun in the early boogie rockers like Berry and Little Richard got tightened by the Beatles and the Stones, the punk of the Ramones and Patti Smith assumed the really active directed anger it always needed at the hands of the Sex Pistols and the Clash. As a result, we talked in class almost exclusively about the U.S. and England and only ever mentioned other countries as they related to the Americans and Brits who went there, except on very rare occasions--like when we talked about Bob Marley and Santana. Everyone in the world makes rock and roll, though. We never talked about J-rock, a whole scene that has done some of the best punk/glam meld of anyone, or the folk metal groups that are howling at the world from northern Europe, directly pulling from libraries of mythology and folklore creating strangely primordial hard metal. These are nuances on a theme and not really anything new. But they're good, and will be worth noting in the Cultural History of Rock and Roll class I will teach in twenty years.

The other thought that occurs to me is how strange it is to think about an album--Nevermind--released in 1992 as a piece of history. Twenty years ago. Holy sheet.

Enjoy.

Review: Swamp Thing: The Saga of the Swamp Thing, by Alan Moore

In 1983, DC decided to assign the title Swamp Thing, a then old title, to now-known-to-be-insane writer, Alan Moore. What Alan Moore produced revolutionized comics as a format for horror. My dad tells this story about the Batman movie that Tim Burton made: Batman, he says, was the first movie to "take the comic book genre seriously." Before Batman there were comic book movies. But they were told as melodramatic sob stories, that could as easily have had no superheroes in them. Batman, he says, gave a superhero doing superhero stuff.

As I understand it, Alan Moore's Swamp Thing did a similar thing for comic books. Alan Moore's Swamp Thing was the first comic book, I am told, to allow comic books to be considered in the literary genre--especially the literary genre of horror, in Swamp Thing's case. Prior to it, comics were one thing, and literature was another. Alan Moore helped with Swamp Thing to blur the lines.

Good for him.

If you like a cunningly written story that makes you think in puzzling terms, pick up this one. It's peculiar and interesting, each issue is well structured. It fails in terms of long-term impetus, I think. The largest questions about the character of Swamp Thing himself are answered reasonably quickly, it seems, so conflicts have to come to Swamp Thing. Swamp Thing himself produces little to no conflict. In that way it falls short. I liked reading this volume--the first volume in the run of anthologies of Alan Moore's retelling of Swamp Thing. It left me content, though. The ending of the anthology satisfied me, leaving no mysteries unsolved, no conflict unresolved. The world was at balance.

I view Swamp Thing as a piece of history, beautifully constructed. A museum piece, if you will, if an enjoyable one. It's a good thing to read and understand...but there's better entertainment out there. I feel bad saying that, since it is Alan Moore, and his story-telling never fails in Swamp Thing. Still, he's written more gripping things.

His intent may have been different in Swamp Thing, however. That's something to consider.

Comic Book Review: Spawn

I read volume one of the Spawn anthologies. I've been meaning to read the Spawn books ever since the movie killed my soul. I have a history with the character Spawn, going way back before I read him or saw him or anything.

The movie came out when I was thirteen, and one of my buddies became immediately obsessed with the character. I liked this kid, and I've always had a bit of a follower psychology, so I decided to be obsessed with this movie as well, even though I knew nothing about it. Somehow I found a poster or saw a preview for it after that, though, and thusly saw the look, felt the attitude, of the character Hellspawn. That masked face and impossible cape and green eyes lodged in my head, like the shading of a really good ghost story. It impacted my imaginings and my creativity, and much of my writing secretly had a few drops of an idealized Hellspawn in it, because I never saw the movie when it was released, and never knew it was a comic book.

Years passed, and Spawn lurched around the back of my head, till finally I was driven to wikipedia. I read about Spawn, and the Violator, and the world Todd McFarlane invented. The art impressed me, the stories intrigued me, and the fact that the whole thing was a comic book first totally took me by surprise. I got the movie and watched it, and it did, in fact, shatter some of my childhood dreams. Completely obnoxious.

It discouraged me. Thus I failed to speedily procure the comic book.

Several years passed. I had many adventures, and eventually found my lady love. Among her many charms is a picky love of comic books. She loves Todd McFarlane, especially, and I trust her taste, except in liking me. Spawn's been reintroduced to me as a literary pursuit to consider.

The other day, I saw volumes one, three, and four of Spawn anthologies at the library. On an impulse, I grabbed volume one and checked it out. I read it fast, and these are my impressions:

The characters are great, the world is great, the situations are provocative, the art is as pretty a comic book art as you'd want. It's a good book for the reading. It ought to have movied up something gorgeous. Stupid, careless movie mongers, mutilizing it.

I found the overall plot of the anthology irritatingly vague and diffuse, and the story from issue to issue moves more slowly than I'd like. Each issue has fewer revelations than I'd write into them, which is one reason why it ought to have movied up gorgeously. What ought to have happened is a streamlining of the story, so the important bits were emphasized, and the world was made more smelly, and the repetition was repeated less. The movie ought to have been good. I'm frustrated with the hosers who messed up Spawn the movie.

Overall, I like Spawn. I'll read the next anthology. I want more of this world. Todd McFarlane wins.

Lesson 0: The Five Act Plot

Shakespeare was, among other things, a failure as a fashionista. I mean to say, that lacey collar thing really sucked. Not going to lie. However, we remember him for his writing, and so shall be left aside his fashion sense.

He called himself "The Poet", as did his contemporaries, and everyone else. It's a fitting title for him, because his originality came from his turn of phrase more than anything. Through his turn of phrase, his characters and their stories were made compelling, to put it mildly. Through the prettiness of his language, normal people were laid bare in such a way as to be seen beautifully. That was his genius: to set forth a reality so real that we believe it as we believe our lives. And his forum of choice was the five act play. As I understand it, the term "five act play" wasn't one used by him or anyone else. However, the formula of the five act play is the formula that he followed for every single play he wrote. And it's a winning formula. So effective is it that almost every movie we watch now sticks to the same formula. And here is the formula, presented with a famous story as an example:

Act 1: In the first act, the main characters are introduced, as are their conflicts and back grounds. The purpose of Act 1 is to describe the main plot. In Star Wars: A New Hope, the first act begins just after the text scrawl ends--that's technically a prologue. The first act of Star Wars explains that Leia needs Obi-Wan Kenobi's help.

Act 2: In the second act, secondary plots, characters, and conflicts are introduced. Act 2 of Star Wars is where Luke Skywalker comes in, all set to start his hero's journey, where he begins to learn the ways of the Force and become a Jedi. (For an analysis of the hero's journey/adventure, wait till I've written it.)

Act 3: In the third act, everything is thrown topsy-turvy and made difficult. This is where messes happen. In Star Wars, this is where Obi-Wan and Luke team up with Han Solo to get off Tatooine, and where Luke starts his Jedi training with the little training remote on the Falcon, and where they head toward Alderaan. The division between acts 3 and 4, here, is a little fuzzy, because of the reasons I'll explain in the next paragraph.

Act 4: In the fourth act, some way of concluding the plots and conflicts is suggested. However, the messes in the last act are made messier, so that the conclusion of plots and conflicts, while seeming inevitable, also seems impossible. In Star Wars, this is where the Death Star is explained as a doomsday device. They start doing this as soon as the Falcon is caught in the Death Star's tractor beam, as a demonstration of the Death Star's power. Then they have that scene where their battle plan is outlined from the Death Star plans they got from R2. This is also the scene in which the battle around the Death Star starts, but does not finish. This act ends about when Red Leader gets killed, and Luke has to start his attack run.

Act 5: Then it's climax time. In the fifth act, everything is fixed. In Star Wars, this act begins when Luke stars his attack run, and everything thereafter is the remainder of the fifth act. You have your climax, and your conclusion, and your feel-good moment of emotional relief in this act.

So that's Shakespeare's winning formula. The thing works, it's undeniable. Dial in a story, make your characters and situations work well, and this is a sure-fire entertainment.

My question, then, is: can the formula work with a short story? I plan to find out. I have a short story that I wrote for a class, and my teacher wrote on it that it was a "genuine pleasure to read." And I agree. I have written few things that I enjoy reading--I almost never reread these blogs, even. That story was a genuine pleasure, though. However, I showed it to another writer friend of mine. She's a super smart lady, who got her masters in creative writing and all, and she wrote on it, "ever heard of plot? Look into it." And that was a legitimate comment, too, because at that point I hadn't ever heard of plot. Now that I'm analyzing Shakespearean plot structure, I'm going to revisit that story and see if I can plug it into this winning formula and make something pretty of it. I understand the story I wanted to tell, and I did it pretty close to well, so it should work. I'll document my progress here, so keep an eye out for a repeat of the five act diagram above, but with the characters Trick and Moxy and their adventures, instead of Luke and Star Wars stuff.

Sound like a plan? Good.

Second rejection of "Totem"

Stardate 21209.8/The Year of Our Lord 2009, August the nineteenth

Wednesday

Dear anachronistic cyber spelunkers,

"Totem" was today rejected for a second time. I've wisely spent the interim not exclusively obsessing about the possibility of its fate. I have been working. It's been a busy summer.

Quote of the day: "Journalism aims at accuracy, but fiction aims at truth." John L'Heureux

Sincerely

"Snaps"

Graily thingy

Today is pentecost! So if you're planning any quests or epic journeys today is the day to start. You have six minutes. Go.

Those greats, and these greats

I wonder which rock and rollers Mozart would listen to. I expect he'd like Queen, would Mozart. There's possibly enough musicallity in that stuff to entertain him. I bet Mozart would like the Stones as well; I bet he and Kieth would have a rip-roaring time. And the Stones have all the class. Pink Floyd: Mozart would love Pink Floyd.

Beethoven would probably listen to the Ramones. The Ramones are loud enough. Not just that, but Beethoven really got into this idea of revolution. He'd probably listen to the Sex Pistols too.... Beethoven probably wouldn't listen to a lot of different music, actually. Beethoven had the music in his head.

Charles Baudelaire would like Rob Zombie. I don't know too much about Baudelaire or Zombie, just a sort of attitude. They both seem nose-thumbingly pseudo-misanthropic enough, and thrilled enough at carnage, that probably Baudelaire would get all kinds of fun from Rob Zombie.

Queen Elizabeth I would listen to the Beatles, of course. She'd like them for being English. I expect she'd hate Elvis, or make fun of him anyway, just because the man wasn't that smart. I bet that Bess would listen to AC/DC too; turn it up loud and force everyone else to listen along. AC/DC is probably shocking enough for Queen Elizabeth.

Alexander the Great ought to listen to Steppenwolf. I think he'd do well with Steppenwolf, but I don't know a lot about the guy's mind so I ain't sure.

Fantasy Rock and Roll?

Of late, many of the science fiction ideas, characters, worlds, groups, whole stories, etc, that I've been making up have been characterized and defined, at least in part, by rock and roll. T. Volker and the Rough and Ready Corps, of Eve and Shenectady notoriety, for instance, are children of AC/DC, specifically "TNT" for Volker and "Dirty Deeds" for the Corps.

Right now I'm foraying into fantasy though. And I don't know what kind of music to listen to. Rock and roll speaks to my soul, somehow, and I believe there's rock and roll in my fantasies. I can't think at the moment, however, of any groups, songs, or eras that seem fitting to characters like Twig and situations like Finger searching for luck.

As I write this an ironic thought occurs to me. For a long time recently all of the rock and roll I've been listening to has been old, classic. Some of it has been dated, and all of it has been era defining or defined by its era, and all the eras have been markedly ancient, in a sense.

Right now I'm listening to "Girl's Not Grey" by AFI. It came out in 2003. And although it isn't really perfectly vibrating with ideas I have of fantastical ilk, it's closer to the right mood, better idea.

We think of science fiction, and at first blush we imagine the new, the shiny, the chrome, the cutting edge. First blush fantasy tends to evoke feelings of age and agelessness and the ancient. I'm finding it interesting, fascinating, and pretty peculiar that I'm identifying newness with fantasy and oldness with science fiction.

Another thought has just occurred to me, and that's the revolutionary qualities of a lot of the music that I listen to. The Beatles were almost the first people to do what they did; The Ramones invented an attitude; Hendrix revolutionized guitar; Thin Lizzy inspired practically everything; the Stones just went kablooie all over the place. The old rock and rollers were the inventors, the cutting edge musicians. They were the explorers, reaching for newness, not sure where they were headed and forced to create shiny exploration at every turn. But what have we got now? New kids inventing NOTHING. You read articles about the brand new shooting stars on the rock and roll scene and the article is just a list of names that these new kids remind us of--oh, yeah, Endeverafter is like Led Zeppelin with Thin Lizzy sprinkled all over the top. The revolution is over, and we are living in a time when rock and roll is old. Still magical, but not being discovered anymore: it's come, and it's old, and it has stuck and will not leave. This is where we live, in rock and roll world. The magicians of old have brought us to this point when young heroes are discovering dragons to battle and corporate mogul warlords to overthrow...

I, Q?

Q...what is it about our language that has made this letter uncommon? It's as good as many letters, and better than some. It certainly looks nicer than K, and there's more fun to be had out of it than T. Admittedly, it isn't as controversial as R, and hardly more controversial than C, although it rubs shoulders with the middling controversy of L. Because, though, the spheres of influence between Q and L are so disperate, this isn't as prestigeous as it might be.

I think I really know why Q is so uncommon. It's because it's a fake letter, more or less. It's a letter that came about through accidents, typos back in the writing era, and pseudo-organization. It's a new letter, like Y it's compensating for ignorant authority, and like J making noises it ought not for ignorant peonage.

From this point forward, I'm making it my missions to reform the alphabet. The current one is a mess. Sheesh.

Trusting the Past

I have been evaluating myself as a historian, and juxtaposing my approach to "conveying the facts" to the past, to history recorded up till now.

When I tell a story, I almost never leave anything out. Listening to my tales of the truth and the past you will always get the whole story. In general, however, you'll get some other stuff as well.

For instance, me and some of my sibs were driving home the other night, when an add comes on the radio. "Order our radar jammer now! Save hundreds of dollars! Never get another speeding ticket!" These are almost direct quotes, word for word, I shitteth thee and thine not in the slightest. The honest to goodness truth.

But the last couple of times before now that I've told this story, I've added on thustly: Blaze on past the cops in their cruise cars at eighty--VROOM!--they'll never know you were there! Call now and save hundreds!

The add didn't say that. I believe the use of this device would be specifically to jam the radar guns in those non-descript white vans that automatically check your speed, take your picture, then e-mail you the ticket.

Additionally, I like to phrase things in more interesting ways than the bad radio commercial writers like to phrase things. So forced excitement and banality, that is to say the original voice, is covered up with my own sort of whatever.

I was telling someone just now about this habit I've got of taking the facts, deciding they're dull as they are, and then sort of floofing them up to be more memorable. I was speaking of this in the context of wondering what historians of the far future would think of things in a general sort of way with my accounts of truth as their only guide to the past. Then this person I was speaking with mentioned that I want to study history. I do. I'm interested in what was. But it occurs to me now that there is more than a tiny little possibility that age old historians had a reasonably moiesque--that is to say, similar to mine--view on recorded data.

This taken to be true, just for the sake of argument at this moment, all history books should on average be assumed to be exactly half lies. And the other half should be assumed more or less dull.

I choose however not to see history as if it were all written by the moiesque. I assume it was all written by liars, and I will therefore keep an open mind.

The end.