In my previous post I mentioned that I had picked up John F. Szwed’s Jazz 101: A Complete Guide to Learning and Loving Jazz. After a weekend of light reading I’ve already come upon several interesting topics of conversation, one of which kept my mind in a state of slow percolation all Sunday.

In Chapter 10, Szwed begins a discussion of jazz styles - not a series of definitions and explainations of names like boogie-woogie, third stream, and fusion - but of the actual thought process in assigning periods (or “schools”) to jazz, a music that doesn’t delineate into clear-cut movements as easily as other classified arts, such as painting or classical music.

The following is a page and a half excerpt from Szwed’s text:

The matter of jazz styles urgently needs rethinking. Composer/saxophonist Anthony Braxton has suggested that the changes that occur in jazz (though he includes all music in this conception, and perhaps all art, culture, and technology) can be seen in terms of what he calls restructuralists, stylists, and traditionalists. Restructuralists are musicians who change music to the extent that the structural properties of the music change — change to the point that they may literally threaten the musical and even the social order. Stylists, on the other hand, take the music created by restructuralists and recode it and redner it publicly acceptable. They are the technocrats of the music, Braxton says, and confirm the existing reality. If Charlie Parker was a restructuralist, Phil Woods is a stylist; ditto the relationship between John Coltrane and Charles Lloyd. (Critic Martin Williams once dryly remarked that Charles Lloyd’s effort was one of making Coltrane safe for democracy.) Traditionalists are those who live in complete awareness of what came before and reproduce the past by adjusting it for contemporary reality. Using Braxton’s ideas, we can look at the music conventionally grouped under the heading of bebop and see it as being a restructuralist music in the 1940s and early 1950s, a stylistic in the music in the later 1950s, and a traditionalist form ever since.

One can quibble about who fits under what heading, but an analysis like Braxton’s would complicate the way we think about styles and offer some correction to the oversimplification of jazz history. It is also interesting to follow his conclusion that all three of these tendencies should be present in a healthy musical culture. Restructuralism gives music a sense of development and direction, but if there were no other forces at work, it would produce novelty rather than culture, one change following another forever. Stylists alone would put an end to forward motion in music by slowing ending innovation (this is the tendency in music most favored by nightclubs, schools, and public institutions). Traditionalism, if carried to its logical conclusion, would stop change altogether and expend its efforts attempting to adapt another era to our own under a nostalgic rejection of the current cultural situation (Such a condition now exists in opera where the “classics” have closed out all but the occasional new work.)

What impressed me most about that passage is how easily I could apply it to classical music, and to what degree it remained a valid argument.

For example, as Amadeus stressed, at the time of composition, Mozart’s music was incredibly avant garde, both in the way he created the sound and many of the forms or subjects he set it to. Obviously Amadeus takes creative liberties with some of the Mozart story, but one of the things it captures particularly well through Salieri’s narrative is the freshness and restructuralist nature of Mozart’s compositions.

Other major restructuralists in classical music spring ready to mind quite easily - Stravinsky, Wagner, Beethoven - but less clear is where the stylists and traditionalists fit in. Because so little of the classical repertoire is focused on the legitimately new anymore (the crisis of classical music being similar to the crisis in opera, though for somewhat different reasons), it would appear the traditionalists have taken over, putting the entire artistic form at risk. This is not to be construed as a “classical music is dead, or dying” statement, but I do think that Braxton does raise some legitimate debate about the forces at work in art.

How does this strike the classical musicians in the audience?

This won’t be a thematic post but will instead function as more of an assessment of the progress I’ve been making, not only with this site (which is minimal in the visible sense), but with other facets of my life.  I don’t generally talk much about what is going on with me personally, but with how busy I have been recently I find it somewhat necessary to condense some of those thoughts into written form.

First off, I have finally completed the college application process.  I mailed my last application (to the University of Minnesota) yesterday.  I’m quite relieved to have moved beyond the application stage, especially as my initial application timeline coincided with preparations for the field operation in 29 Palms at the end of September.

The University of Minnesota asked a question I didn’t encounter elsewhere - they asked me to briefly state my academic interests and career goals.  I stated simply “It is my intent to pursue a dual major in English Literature and Russian as a precursor to a graduate degree in Slavic Languages and Literature. Ultimately, I wish to teach at a post-secondary level.”  I can’t think of a more simple way of putting it, though the Russian part is fluid at the moment.  I applied to the University of Wisconsin-Madison as an English Literature and Polish dual major, though I would like to speak both by the time I’m finished with my undergraduate degree.  I should also add that in no way does teaching at the post-secondary level mean I’m giving up on the idea of being a writer.  I’m just realistic about the need to put food on the table.

My friend (and host) Chris will go on Terminal Leave from the Marines today at noon.  Chris was my first roommate out here on Pendleton and has become a fast friend.  Though I am sad to see him leave I am happy that he’s progressing beyond the Corps into the private sector.  Chris recently gained his PHP certification, which merits congratulations as well.  Take care of yourself, man, and I’ll see you when Jo and I pass through Denver in twenty days.

At the left you will notice I’m currently reading Zamyatin’s We, a Russian dystopian novel dating from 1921.  We is generally considered the original dystopian novel, predating and influencing such works as 1984 and Brave New World.

The novel is significant for other reasons as well.  Zamyatin, an engineer, makes extensive use of mathematics for metaphor, and often his sentences look like they could be equations.  He also employs a unique writing style, one he termed the “language of thought,” a more evolved sort of stream of consciousness technique.  Zamyatin explains it best in this excerpt from his essay “On Language” (1919-20):

“[I]f you try to follow the language of thought in your own mind, you will not find even he simplest sentences — only shreds, fragments of simple sentences.  Only the most essential elements of a sentence are used: sometimes only a verb or only an epithet, an object … At first glance this assertion may seem paradoxical: why should fragments of sentences, scattered as after an explosion, have greater effect on the reader than the same thoughts and images arranged in regular, steady, marching ranks? … [because] you meet the reader’s natural instinctive need. You do not compel him to skim…”

One might suspect such a syntactical style would be difficult to adjust to, but I’ve found Zamyatin’s writing fresh and interesting.  I’ve enjoyed the book so far (I’m about 7 chapters in) and would heartily recommend it to anyone with an inclination for reading something atypical and thought-compelling.

On the website front, I’m looking into making some changes to the site, some subtle, some more sweeping.  Nothing is set in stone at all, and of course the readership is quite small (due to my erratic posting), but I’m trying to give it more visual appeal while upping the frequency and quality of the posting back to my previously mentioned levels.  Now that the albatross of application season is no longer around my neck I hope to be able to divert more brainpower to getting things back to the way they should be around here.

This brings me to my next to last point - the post I’ve been meaning to make for over a week now.  I’ve found that a good deal of research is required, and in the interest of accuracy I’d like to have all my facts straight before I make it.  I will throw out one hint - it will concern the Midwest, applied technology, current infrastructure, and transportation theory.

Lastly, with the Detroit Tigers playing in the American League Championship Series for the right to advance to the World Series, I’m more than a little disappointed they aren’t doing so in a revitalized Tiger Stadium instead of their shiny corporate-shill digs (Comerica Park).  Sadly, Tiger Stadium’s luck has run out.  This past June the Mayor of Detroit, Kwame Kilpatrick, announced the venerable old building, built in 1911, would be demolished starting this autumn.  Oh, what could have been.

Farewell.

Beer Lists

Greg, a friend of mine out in Chicagoland, introduced me to a really cool website earlier last week.  RateBeer.com is something I’ve been looking for, on and off, for quite a while now - a place to keep track of and evaluate the beers I’ve sampled.

Part of it, I guess, plays into my love of lists.  I attain a great bit of satisfaction from putting items into order - debating within myself (or with others) the merits of each particular item, ordering them, and then fine-tuning the list.

As an aside, my friend Sean (yes, the one who recently became a daddy) and I took the majority of an afternoon at work hashing out, in our minds, the greatest rock bands of Classic (1960 - 1985) and Modern (1985 - present) times.  This was brought on by our discovery that Syd Barrett (the founder of Pink Floyd) had died, and we actually wound up staying late to use the entire white board in our office to write out lists and eliminate candidates.  We went about this quite dispassionately, and I may or may not eventually post our findings.

Back to the subject at hand, I’ve spent part of the last week rating the beers that were at my immediate disposal.  My fledgling list (some of the guys at rate beer are up in the thousands of beers) is just what has been at hand for me to try, and neither comprises staples of my larder (Alaskan Amber) or beers I’ve specifically grown to dislike (any Anheuser-Busch products).  I’m also pretty excited about the site because it’s going to allow me to really pinpoint my tastes in beer.  There are a few hard and fast rules that I’ve already established, such as wheat beers generally making me sleepy, but part of the lure of the site will be learning more about myself.

If any of you are already using the site, or if you’re interested in joining me over there, let me know.

Tallahatchie Bridge

Remember the 1967 Bobbie Gentry hit “Ode to Billie Joe”?  One of my most vivid memories from early childhood is hearing that song for the very first time.  The song has always haunted me, and I’ve always thought the Tallahatchie Bridge looked something like this.  I bring this up because the song became a massive hit in late July of 1967, and as such, birthday wishes are in order.

A Plug

I’ll occasionally peruse Arts & Letters Daily, which is a a great place to find some of the best thought-stimulating writing available on the Interwebs.  On tap today: 27,000 year-old Modigliani-style cave paintings, why we secretly hate Garrison Keillor (which was interesting for me to read for my own purposes), why we read the novels we do (which features this quote: “We found that men do not regard books as a constant companion to their life’s journey, as consolers or guides, as women do… They read novels a bit like they read photography manuals.”), and finally, The Tyranny of Blog: Enemy of Thought.

I’ll see you all here Monday morning.  Hope you’re having a great weekend.

The post you’re about to read is partially inspired by my extremely slow Interweb connection tonight. It seems like even the big dogs are having problems - Blogger, Wikipedia, ESPN, Google - and it’s only a shade of what’s to come in three months.

If you haven’t heard about the seemingly imminent changes to the Internet (basically, the end of network neutrality), it’s not only a very real and imposing problem, but it is upon us like a wave looming over Laird Hamilton. Tim Wu, via Slate.com offers a good overview of the matter at hand and how it pertains to the individual Internet user.

Basically it boils down to profiteering (which seems to be the status quo among megacorps these days). AT&T, Verizon, BellSouth, and Comcast (just to name a few) all believe that they are somehow being taken to the cleaners by not dividing the Internet, currently free and open, into price-defined tiers of access. Whereas today this blog can be accessed as quickly as Amazon.com or Google, on the Internet of Tomorrow advocated by the telecoms I would have to pay a substantial fee in order to enjoy the same access as large corporations willing to cough up extra dough to continue doing business as usual.

On the Internet of Today, anyone, for better or worse, can be the next mouse that roars.

On the Internet of Tomorrow, your circle of influence equals your purchasing power.

What exactly is at stake? More than you might think.

What the telecoms don’t seem to understand is that the Internet operates on a much more fragile premise than anyone is willing to admit. The main gripe seems to be centered in the realm of online purchasing, be it from iTunes, Ebay, Amazon, or Google. The telecoms would have us believe they’re getting hosed because companies and customers are using their network as a medium to transact business. Never mind that both parties already pay the telecoms for their Internet connection, the telecoms demand the ability to regulate how effectively and efficiently that business can be conducted.

The problem is, the network is only a means to an end and derives any value it holds from the basic agreement that all three parties (consumer, network provider, and business) are essential to the equation. Take away the consumer, and the business has significantly less need for the network provider. Block access to a business and the consumer finds another way to contact it. More on the bad logic of a tiered Internet is located via this link to an article by James Surowiecki of the New Yorker.

If the telecoms aren’t dissuaded by the wrath of the American people which would surely follow the implementation of such a scheme, they should take into account subversive American ingenuity. With the advent of faster and more reliable Wi-Fi networks, AT&T and the rest of the sorry telecom lot shouldn’t be surprised if pirate and guerrilla networks spring up to cut Big Business out of the picture completely. As the Soviets found out in Afghanistan in the Eighties, and as the Bush Administration is finding out in Iraq today, it’s hard to crush an enemy that’s smaller and quicker to adjust than you are.

Luckily, one other sector of Big Business that just might have the pull to put the kibosh to any designs the telecoms have on the Internet is starting to wake up and smell the impending manure-storm. That’s right, the financial sector.

If you’re concerned about significant change to the principal of network neutrality, find out more about the issue at SavetheInternet.com, and then sign their petition.

Briefly

I don’t often read The Huffington Post, but I’ve been perusing it a bit more this week than normal. In doing so, I came across an article by Paul Rieckhoff detailing his new book, Chasing Ghosts, which hit shelves yesterday. I’ve never ready anything Rieckhoff has written before, but after finishing his blurb, I’m inclined to go check out the book.

So far, it seems to be the most accurate record of what deploying to Iraq is like. Eat the donuts at the airfield, hop on the plane with your rifle, and the next thing you know, you’re in the Third World with nothing but your wits, your will to survive, and (hopefully) several cartons of cigarettes to use alternately as currency and ritualistic self-centering props. I took six cartons when I left.

Every year since 1998 I’ve read Thomas Hardy’s Far from the Madding Crowd. Until about ‘98 I’d never been much for the British classics - I think I’d only been exposed to a handful of them, and not always with spectacular results. To this day I have no intention or desire to finish Gulliver’s Travels.

But Hardy pulled me in somehow, though I couldn’t tell you if it was originally through his characters or simply the story itself. I remember devouring the book, though, over the course of a few nights, then delving into Tess shortly afterward. After Tess came most of Emma, then Pride and Prejudice. Basically, I credit Hardy for being there to spark my love of Brit Lit at just the right time.

So, for seven years I’ve kept the streak alive, and recently I’ve been thinking of adding a couple more books to the list of regulars, sort of yearly touchstones or waypoints. I always read Hardy in the autumn, a fitting time, and when I read him it brings back memories of autumns past. Each time I read it, I’m reminded how I’ve progressed (or regressed) in that year, I take stock and then try to imagine where I’ll be when I’m reading the book a year from that point. I’ve never once been right.

In my head I’m making up a rough list of books I’d like to read every year. If I could, I’d try to do a minimum of two novels a month, plus whatever else I fancy at the moment. At this point, I think that’s realistic, though I’ll have to be more flexible with goals like that after I start school again.

A rough list of books I’d like to read annually (besides FftMCwould include the following:

Edith Wharton, Ethan Frome
Larry McMurtry, Moving On
Jack Kerouac, On The Road
Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited
Raymond Chandler, The Big Sleep
Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood

Actually, there is one other book I read on a regular basis, sometimes more than once a year - Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential. I’m continually charmed by Bourdain’s prose, by how pared down yet lush it is, like biting into a freshly peeled tangerine. I go back to it for a number of reasons - the descriptions of a lifestyle and career path I’ve left behind (and still miss in parts of my heart), the endurance and pacing of the narrative, the crazy characters only possible in the culinary world, and the best descriptions of food I’ve read anywhere.

Will I ever find time to read all those books every year? Probably not. I could manage three or four of them, perhaps, but eventually they might stunt my intake of new material.x So I’ll have to devise a rotation of some sort which will allow me to keep them fresh in my mind, a sort of semi-regular reminder of who I am and where I’ve come from, an occasional chance to take time out to reflect on what I am and what I hope to become.