Random Thoughts: Form and Function

I think for any artist, it is a mistake to think that improving form will automatically improve function.

Consider the career trajectory of a rock musician. The upstart rocker is young, raw, and still developing technical skills on his or her instrument. Sometimes a band will release an album that “takes the world by storm” before its members can read a line of music. What most fans will consider their best album is often an album created from what the band members profess as “little knowledge of what they’re doing.”

An aged rock musician may say, “My skills have improved drastically since my first album.” Though the technical skills may improve, the quality of the music diminishes. The earlier albums had a rawness that lacked sound form, but walloped with effective function. Resonant art requires feeling. A fast solo does nothing without emotion embedding it.

I’m sure the band members of Metallica can play circles around their past selves. They can hit every old solo blindfolded. That does not mean that modern Metallica music is better, however. If anything, the music has objectively staled (almost no one would argue that Death Magnetic is a superior album to Ride the Lightning). Where rock music counterpart Megadeth has an advantage is their continued sense of urgency. Every song is still imbued with feeling. The fifty-year-old has the same attitude as his 18-year-old self. There is still pain, triumph, and loss behind the song structure. The quest continues, and therefore, so does the art.

The issue is similar for a writer. A writer’s prose may improve over the years, but that says nothing of the story he or she may wish to tell. A writer may edit a sentence a hundred times, but each successive edit does not necessarily improve the sentence. The master of syntax is by no means the master storyteller. That first drafted sentence, the impulsive one, may be grammatically worse, but it also may pack more punch. Even if embarrassingly poor in structure, it probably impacts the reader more than the hundredth edit. By the hundredth edit, can it even be said that the writer still maintains the intention of the original sentence? After all, the first sentence was probably written on feeling. The hundredth sentence is often written to impress an audience. Something was lost along the way.

My point is that effective art requires work, but it is a mistake to believe that function requires perfect form. This should be good news to any aspiring artist because it gives him or her permission to be imperfect, so long as they have something to say and a fiery means of saying it. It should also illuminate why a guitar virtuoso is often not the writer of a hit single.

Hustle Culture

Hustle culture can seem omnipresent in the city.

Cars rush forward at the break of dawn because hurry is the queen bee of the hive. Stoplight to stoplight, interstate entry to interstate exit, drivers hope to save ten seconds, for the sake of being on time (the white rabbit is always a slave to the queen). Their mood and their morale are fully dependent on the mercy of the stoplight and the traffic congestion. The roads, and their vehicles, are therefore their masters.

Breakfast is not so much an experience as it is an inconvenience, solved via the drive-through.

Coffee is slammed, not sipped.

There are agendas for the day. Emails to answer. Calls to take. Appointments to arrive at.

The best to-do list, according to hustle culture, is one that forever adds and never subtracts.

To that I say, the best to-do list is one thrown in the garbage and forgotten!

A breakfast is better spent over three hours than over three minutes. Give me jokes, countless cups of good coffee (and no deadline to finish them), merry company, and sunshine! Let me taste real food and engage with real people.

A rushed drive to work is best replaced by a slow walk through a forest.

A screen is best replaced by a book, a painting, or a music album to listen to.

An obsession over retirement is best replaced by a spontaneous and fun hobby for today.

Fretting over the future is best replaced by contentment for this beautiful, precious moment, a moment in which we are aware of our own existence.

This is what I aspire to… which is why I’ll take my time with my coffee this morning.

Soldier On

It seems fitting that Dave Mustaine, the frontman of legendary metal act Megadeth, just released what some critics are already calling his band’s best album since Countdown to Extinction. The guy has an endless supply of vigor and musical fervor. He’s survived decades in an industry that sees most rock acts dissolve in a blink. And if you thought that he might mellow with age, you were wrong. The new Megadeth album The Sick, The Dying… And The Dead! is as fast-tempo’d and furious as anything Megadeth has ever dropped.

Mustaine survived cancer; his purported 51 radiation treatments, coupled with the pandemic, seem to have redoubled his artistic flair, as well as his awareness of his own mortality.

One of my favorite tracks, Soldier On, is about the desire to persist in spite of anything, or anyone, that life hurdles at you. It’s about the simple need to keep going.

The song makes me think about why I embark on long runs. Why go so far? Why push past fatigue, mile after mile, hitting the earth with a force equal to up to five times the weight of my own body? Simply put, because it’s only when you exhaust yourself fully that you understand who you are. Maybe it’s another form of Tyler Durden’s treatment for materialism (“It’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything”).

As the miles pass, the logical mind takes a back seat and a more primordial self helms the vehicle that is you. Your trivial anxieties and plannings for the future, your dreads and longings for the past, and all that’s left of your ego can seem to dissolve.

You’ve peeled every layer from the past that piled onto you over the years, and at the core is just an organic being attempting to persist, attempting to push forward, one step at a time. And that experience reveals an important part of what the core of your being actually wants: to soldier on.

Another Place and Time

I believe that the best songs transport you to another place and time.

Your destination upon listening might be the place and time in which you first heard the song. It might awaken what you were thinking, feeling, and experiencing upon first listen. In this sense the song is constantly an automatic time transport back to the first listen. It is an echo of a moment in which you may have seen and felt the world differently.

The song may just capture the feeling of a specific moment, hour, day, or year in your life. The melodies remind you of thoughts and emotions from that era. Maybe it’s a moment you’re nostalgic for. Maybe it’s someone you pined for. Maybe it’s an angry metal song that evokes teenage rebellion.

Today I listened to Helvetesfönster by Ghost and it brought me back to a day in high school. Suddenly I was on a science class field trip to Paramount Carowinds theme park with my classmates. Or was it Bush Gardens? I took trips to both in high school and now have difficulty distinguishing the specifics of each. It was more than twenty years ago. I have a strong memory, but memories do fade.

This was before cell phones and smart devices. It was a time when one only accessed the Internet via a slow dial-up connection, when companies didn’t track us via the gadgets in our pockets.

I was content to sit and stare at the passing wilderness that walled each side of the road. I thought about how there was something special in that moment, sitting and staring, surrounded by peers who also sat and stared. I thought that our youth would end before we knew it, that we’d all move on and many of us would forget about each other, that we’d vie for good jobs and social status, and that ultimately we’d lose what made us genuine, if we were ever genuine to begin with. We’d have families and become consumed by their relevance. We’d have money and be consumed by its investment potential. We’d become what Holden Caulfield called “phonies” if we weren’t phonies already. We’d be fully absorbed by the rush of it all. We’d never again just be glad to sit and stare.

Sitting in absolute silence while a song plays and watching trees whir by a window somehow made the modern world’s anxieties seem trivial.

One of my favorite songs, Like a Stone by Audioslave, played on that bus ride. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard the song, but the song was relatively new at the time. It seemed fitting to think about life while listening to a song about death. That was when we were capable of just listening to a song, when songs weren’t a means of multitasking or a drug for numbing our hatred of a moment pressing down on us.

Like a dream within a dream, I was listening to a song within a song, and it felt nice to return to a simpler time.

I wish to turn off the noise and just listen to a song again.

Weekly Plunder: Week 26 - St. Patty

I registered for a 5 mile (8 km) “St. Patrick’s day run” with some friends. Usually I try to avoid these sorts of events, especially considering that I am still far from my peak running form, but I thought that completing the run would give me some closure in my foot rehabilitation.

It took months to walk painlessly following my foot injury, and more months after that to jog again. I’d like to see a tangible result of my daily rehab.

On another note, I was asked once what the goal of this blog is. The answer is, there is no goal at all. It is a collection of my thoughts, sold without a charge, undiluted and lacking an editor. It is as flawed as I am.

Regarding the need to profit from my writing, there is a quote I think of from Cicero: “The free man who sells his work lowers himself to the rank of slaves.”

What I’m watching: I revisited Dark City after thinking about the modern fascination with “flat earth” theory (no, I do not actually believe the earth is flat). Dark City is a delightfully weird film with a twist that oddly enforces flat earth theory. It’s also The Matrix before The Matrix.

What I’m reading: The Right to be Lazy, and Other Studies by Paul LaFargue. LaFargue writes with both comedy and consistent anger. He was wrong on a lot of predictions but made some valid points that I find worth considering.

What I’m listening to: “Snow (Hey-Oh)” by the Chili Peppers. I sang this song a lot in karaoke during my last few months in China. I think for that reason I now associate this song with finality and endings. I knew during these karaoke sessions that my time time was coming to a close and as my final days neared, I sang this song more frequently. I can’t hear this song now without thinking of both China and of endings.

What I’m doing: I’m preparing for Sonoma county in two weeks. I’m looking forward to biking along the Pacific coast, drinking wine, and breathing fresh air. And of course I’m looking forward to seeing San Francisco.

An Evening with Ghost and Volbeat

February 21, Saint Louis—Presidents Day

I walked approximately two miles from my apartment just after dusk to get to the rock show. I trekked alongside the construction site of the upcoming downtown soccer stadium, then walked through a vacant St. Louis University. I turned left on Compton Ave and suddenly I was at the arena and eager for some rock and roll music.

Rock bands Ghost and Volbeat played at Chaifetz arena in downtown St. Louis.

Volbeat is a Danish band that draws influence from a variety of genres—rock, metal, rockabilly, and the blues—and has a strong knack for hooks and catchy choruses.

I was glad to hear them play some of my personal favorites, including new songs “Temple of Ekur” and “The Devil Rages On.”

The show also brought additional depth to hit song “Die to Live.” As lead singer Michael Poulsen stated, “Sometimes ya gotta die a little to live a little” as the band launched full speed into the track.

Frontman Michael Poulsen has an absolutely booming rockabilly-inspired voice that hits each note with pitch-perfect precision. I’ve also been a long-time fan of lead guitarist Rob Caggiano, who has served as producer for several Volbeat albums and was known before joining the band as a once-lead guitarist of legendary thrash band Anthrax. He’s a true virtuoso and the type that makes the most blistering solos look effortless.

There was a fun guest appearance by ZZ Bottom, who brought some zest with saxophone and piano to a few tunes.

I could have listened to Volbeat all night, but headliner Ghost is one of my favorite bands (latest album Prequelle is one of my most-played of the last two years).

Swedish rock band Ghost is arguably a solo project helmed by frontman Tobias Forge, who records much of the instruments for the studio albums and is the primary songwriter. For live shows he is assisted by the “Nameless Ghouls” on instrumentals, who for this show wore sinister looking gas masks and black uniforms.

The elaborate stage setup featured a giant fake stained glass painting of “Papa Emeritus IV,” the character that Forge portrays on stage. Emeritus is a diabolical satanic pope all too eager to spread the will of his dark lord (he repeatedly asks the audience to fornicate after the show).

In spite of the sinister theatrics (this includes flames geystering up, as well as the nameless ghouls routinely bickering with one another and competing with Emeritus for stage attention), the beauty of Ghost is that it is a legitimate rock band, more in line with Blue Oyster Cult than screamo death metal. The songs are melodic and Forge sings rather than screams. The hooks sink into the mind and linger there long after hearing them.

A shower of glitter rained down during “Mummy Dust.” Forge went through a diverse and fun wardrobe selection (everything from a pope costume to a glittery jacket). The band launched a moving cover of Metallica’s “Enter Sandman” (the ghouls can really play), and the crowd headbanged to the crunching metal song “Faith.”

What an excellent way to spend Presidents Day!

Who Walks Behind - Memoro Menti

Memoro menti is Latin for “you have to die” according to Wikipedia.

Thousands of years ago, Roman generals appointed slaves the task of constantly whispering to them something along the lines of, “you too will die,” as they rode via horseback. This is arguably the origin of the phrase “memoro menti”.

This is also, I suspect, the subject matter of the Ghost song “Pro Memoria.” The chorus of this song is, “Don’t you forget about dying, don’t you forget about your friend death, don’t you forget that you will die.” The song is therefore the slave’s constant whisper to the general: “you are mortal, and your time will end.”

I find myself more acutely aware of an inevitable end these days (hopefully not soon, but inevitable nonetheless). The following have helped present this truth to me: a current injury, a surgically removed tumor from my 20s, and the realization that time accelerates with age.

I do not delude myself into thinking that this present life is a gateway to some sort of eternity. Such a notion strikes me as vain (what other biological creature is bestowed such an honor, and worse, a self-appointed one?), and also potentially lazy. An assumption of eternity is often an excuse to do nothing with the present moment, under the false assumption that there will always be a tomorrow. One could argue that religion convinces its followers to limit themselves, to go “sinless,” with promises of eternity as well.

Such an epiphany, the realization of finiteness, renders the concept of “sacrifice” a difficult one to grasp. The justification of sacrifice, after all, is for the sake of a better tomorrow. But tomorrow is not a guarantee and therefore sacrifice is a gamble.

Conversely, to neglect tomorrow, to indulge in full-blown hedonism in this present moment, runs a very real risk of creating a hellish future. So, one has no choice but to assume that a tomorrow will exist, that some preparation for it is warranted, and that some sacrifice today could potentially render tomorrow “better.”

Past and present. Sacrifice and indulgence. It is a balancing act. To accept the “hell” of today for the sake “heaven” tomorrow, to sacrifice, runs the very real risk of dying having only experienced hell. I think of a father I knew who died of cancer in his 40s having only known a life of “saving aggressively for an early retirement.” His son, determined not to repeat the same mistake, indulged in a life of extreme hedonism and wound up in deep poverty by the same age.

Tomorrow is not a guarantee and neither is good health. There is a yin/yang sort of walk on a tightrope in regards to handling the present and future. And there are no answers to how far one should stray towards either side.

So we work, but we are wary of working “too much” (to die in a cubicle is to never have lived!). And we conserve, but we are wary of conserving “too much” (to live for “saving” is to forsake life completely!). And we are tasked with meditating and soul search for what exactly “too much” is in our lives. In doing so, do we “die in a happy medium?”

I prepare for running and retirement and cycling and skateboarding and travel and hiking up mountains and swimming in seas and reading new books!

And while I plan I also must whisper to myself, “Don’t you forget about dying, don’t you forget about your friend death, don’t you forget that you will die.”

The Weekly Plunder: Week 11 - Off Road

The beauty of the gravel bike is in its lack of limitations. While a road bike has the advantage of speed, it’s also bound to pavement, and therefore subjected to most of the rules of the road.

A gravel bike can handle roads and much more. You can ride through forest, desert, and mountains. You can venture where most dare not walk. You set your own rules when you leave pavement. This gives gravel bike riders a true sense that the world is at their fingertips. Cycling across a country suddenly becomes possible.

Needless to say I’m really enjoying my gravel bike.

What I’m reading: Crossroads by Jonathan Franzen. As far as I can tell it’s a book about shame. There’s a passage in the beginning that I found particularly interesting, about a widow whose husband recently died. A pastor who has romantic interest in her suspects that she will only stay alone for a short period of time out of emotional loyalty, but that what she primarily misses is simply the feeling of companionship. After all, the pastor reasons, we tell ourselves that we will never replace our dead pets, but in due time we find justification for a new cat or dog.

This brought to mind a story I heard of a man whose wife died of cancer. He was back in the dating scene within a short period of time. What a dark epiphany about human nature.

What I’m watching: The Circle on Netflix, season 3. It’s just trashy reality television that kills time. I shouldn’t watch it… but then we shouldn’t do a lot of things that we do anyways.

What I’m listening to: “The Scarecrow” by Avantasia. What a dark, nostalgic, and poignant song. Jorn’s vocals are among his best on this one. As far as I can tell it’s a song about a lonely person who sets out on his or her own strange and twisted journey. Along this person’s journey, there is someone else trying to destroy the person’s belief system. I find it interesting; it brings to mind the transition out of school.

What I’m doing: I’m planning some pretty epic bike rides. I’ve also been searching for a physical therapist for my ankle in hopes of getting it healthy enough to run again. I’d like to run before 2021 ends and am faintly optimistic that I can get there. You don’t expect an injury to take you out of the game for so long, but you have to play the cards you’re dealt.

I also finally bought a skateboard. Why? Because I believe there is incredible value in constantly leaving my comfort zone, in seeing new places, in learning new skills, and in trying new things. I’d rather embrace being a beginner and enjoy being awkward while braving the unknown than remain in predictable territory.

I aim to disrupt my own routines when I can. It’s not about “cycling really far every day” or “running really far”. It’s about moving with a smile. That’s why I got the skateboard.

The Weekly Plunder: Week 6 - Divine Intervention

Gray hues streak the sky and a dense fog hangs over the tops of the downtown Saint Louis buildings as I write this. The lack of sun renders everything pallid and gaunt.

I attempted a bicycle ride this morning. A mile uphill started the ride and it was particularly grueling for the foot. Pain shot through the upper left part of the sole, the same spot where the most severe sprains occurred from the injury. It’s the spot I have felt with every step, with every movement, over the last few months. I guess it’s my “Achilles Heel”.

The thought that the pain could carry for much longer gave me a feeling of despair (I know, logically, that the foot will heal eventually). I wondered, though, if this was my purgatory, to be constantly yearning for a healthier tomorrow that doesn’t seem to arrive (this must be the inevitable conclusion to aging). It’s strange to me that in extreme moments we seek out biblical metaphors for our problems. Everything is rendered hellish or heavenly or purgatorial.

I kept pedaling, thinking that it was unfair that I should be beaten by my own damned foot.

And as I thought this, I just kept pedaling. And slowly the pain in my foot subsided, for reasons I don’t understand. Hours later, the foot felt better still. Miraculously better. Suddenly I was walking reasonably well. I hadn’t done that since I was 35. I don’t know if the feeling will hold, but some things make no sense.

What I’m doing: I am thinking about stories, in general, and where they come from. I’m also thinking about fall and the beauty in a ground strewn with puddles, fallen acorns, and brittle yellow leaves. I’m thinking about walking, running, and swimming. I’m thinking of the past and present and the wonderful lives that have crossed paths with mine.

What I’m listening to: 1. “A Crisis of Revelation” by Trivium. I’m a sucker for a fast metal song with a solid chorus. 2. “Hunter’s Moon” by Ghost. An odd song dedicated to Michael Myers about sibling love, devotion, and obsession. 3. “AEnima” by Tool. 4. “Goodbye Blue Skies” by Pink Floyd

What I’m watching: Midnight Mass. Wow, what an excellent show. It’s much more than a horror show: it’s a show about family, community, faith, and forgiveness.

What I’m reading: Trying to finish up Full Throttle by Joe Hill. I’ve been slacking with my reading and intend to pick up the pace.

Lord of the Strings: Return of the King

The last time I stood within 20 meters of Megadeth frontman Dave Mustaine was in Corpus Christi, Texas, in the year 2008. That was my senior year of college. Chris Broderick was his lead guitarist back then. United Abominations was the band’s most recent album, and “Sleepwalker” was my favorite of the new songs. The next album, Endgame, was on the horizon.

I’d seen Megadeth play with Iron Maiden back in 2013 as well. That was in Raleigh, NC, at the same venue where I saw my first metal show, Ozzfest, back in 2006.

It’s strange that I remember these shows so vividly. I remember the songs, the stage lighting schemes, and the crowds. I’m grateful to my mind for grasping a lot of these moments.

This show had a special meaning for me. Mustaine had just overcome throat cancer and live music had largely been canceled for the previous 18 months due to the pandemic.

I was in need of a catharsis because year 36 has been particularly difficult for me. Due to a foot injury I’ve spent it largely motionless. Virtual meetings had slowly devoured my spirit over the previous year and I was, honestly, not feeling like my old optimistic self.

Something about a rock show is cathartic. People stop stressing and start experiencing. For a few hours all problems subside and all that matters is the music. To hell with the rest. Let’s just mosh.

I felt my personal issues evaporate quickly. It’s a similar feeling, oddly, one gets from being out of the city and staring at a clear night sky. I think it’s because both instances halt thoughts of the past and future.

It’s easy to forget just how incredible Mustaine is as a guitarist. He’s brilliant and he knows it. There are a lot of guitarists with deft technical ability, the types who can blast thousand-mile-an-hour solos as their strumming hand whirs up and down the fretboard. But every note from every solo on Mustaine’s guitar is downright mellifluous. His melodies can be menacing and sensuous, and often they’re both at once. He’s better than the rest. His albums can only capture a fraction of his magic, and make no mistake, he is a true magician. The musician Dave Mustaine stays with you.

I was so caught up in the song “She-Wolf” that I attempted to jump. I forgot that I couldn’t jump, and my right leg surged with pain from the ankle to knee. I didn’t give a damn. I was at a rock show (and I’d also had a few cocktails to numb the pain).

You never know how many times you’ll get to see Dave Mustaine. Just seeing him perform once is a blessing. Here’s to hoping for more opportunities.