The Speed of Sound

Lately I've been reading about the Slow Movement and its accompanying philosophies (Slow Food, Slow Sex, Slow Work, Slow Exercise and so on). Seeing as how my hometown was recently designated a Slow City, whether deservedly or not, I thought Carl Honore's In Praise of Slowness deserved at least casual investigation. Admittedly it has been a fairly easy and generic read thus far, employing all-too-convenient demonstrations of its principles in a thoroughly repetitious manner. I could see how some would object to its rather insubstantial evidence, but since I tend to agree with the entirety of the book's content, I'm fine to let it be. While the reading hasn't taught me too much that I didn't know or couldn't infer, there was one particular chapter that really got me thinking. It was the chapter on music.

Apparently modern classical musicians have a tendency to up the tempo on works of old. Many of the original scores of Mozart were intended to be played at as much as half the speed of its contemporary iterations. Some of the speculated reasons for this lie in the Industrial Revolution. With a newfound emphasis on speed and efficiency, the Western world came to agree that faster meant better. The advent of the virtuoso player only seemed to escalate the problem. As instruments become more advanced, and players more enthusiastic, tempos rose. Speed and skill began to replace evocative mood and feeling. Song-lengths began shedding minutes like pets shed winter coats. The modern standard sits at roughly 3-4 minutes for a commercially successful piece of work. Yet nothing illustrates the extreme of this trend quite like grindcore.

Three-second-long songs at a million miles an hour? No big deal. It's all part of the territory. But also as far away from classical composers as one can get. (Although I did recently hear an amazing orchestral rendition of Converge's song "Jane Doe"). What I'm curious about, however, is the potential fact that metal music, which I hold so dear, happens to be the culminating product of industrial society's sickening obsession with speed and efficiency.

Tech death anyone?

Thinking about metal in this way isn't so appealing for me. One could probably make the case that metal exists only to fuel our stimulant-addicted modern minds. Can we no longer deal with silence? I for one realized that I tend to fill quiet moments with music, just because I can. But by doing so, I'm hampering my mind's ability to create meaningful inner dialogue. The result is stunted mental communication and a general lack of self-reflection. Both things I deem essential to a satisfying human existence. Sure, I've written essays while cranking Gojira, but was I thereby compromising the quality of my work?

As much as I love metal and music as a whole, I'm find that it certainly has a time and a place, as well as a tempo. I don't need to fill every spare moment with rapid-fire notes. I fear losing touch with the interior parts of myself by doing so. I can appreciate the passion and intensity of metal, and will continue to do so, yet with a little more mindfulness. After all, I think it's only fair and necessary to occasionally question from whence things came.

In the end, you don't have to be an adherent to the Slow Movement to stop and take a moment for yourself every once in a while. Simply appreciate the silence. There's richness to be found in your own mind as well; outside of today's industrial-strength stimulants.


That means no music video today. Sorry.

Served on the Side

Tommy Rogers, of Between the Buried and Me fame, has solo record out now under his birth name Thomas Giles.

You have to listen to it.

It's titled Pulse and it's quite a piece of work. The songs span a healthy variety of (predominantly non-metal) genres, keeping each spin engaging. It would only be a disservice for me to enumerate their characteristics here, and it's best that you investigate the record in its entirety without any preconceptions. Rogers is a talented dude and your ears are in good hands with him. If it means anything, I would put Steven Wilson's Insurgentes on the same wavelength as Pulse. Both fabulous triumphs of musical beauty and eclecticism. Dig it.



This song can give you a momentary glimpse into the album, but it is truly meant to be experienced as a whole. A requirement you don't come across often anymore. After all, it seems as if the art of the cohesive album has similarly gone the way of grandma's cookbook. (and that's out the window in case you haven't read any past posts)

Let's see if we can change that. Remember that idea that every dollar is a vote?

And Here's Some Metal

Just because I've been slacking on the musical aspect lately. Here's some stuff to keep you entertained.



For those of you easily offended of with a weak stomach, you might want to skip this video by The Secret. Fair warning.

My Current Obsession #5

Everyone and their mother is going to love this.

I stumbled upon it a couple days ago. Don't ask me how. I can't even remember. But goodness gracious I'm glad I did. Cannelle et Vanille is the blog of a Basque expatriot now living and working in the US. It's full of beautiful, professional photographs of beautiful, professional-quality food. Makes my mouth water every time. But it offers much more than that as well. Through her posts I've gotten a glimpse into Basque culture and the ideals they embrace. And as I've come to find, I want nothing more than to be part of it.

There is a tremendous emphasis put on the family unit. There are routine gatherings and outings with all the different branches. Food is always an occasion, and the Basque know how to savor a meal. They eat seasonally and extremely local whenever possible. They even go mushroom hunting with grandparents. Basically, they enjoy amazing food, take care of themselves as well as one another, and simply know how to enjoy every day. You can just see the joy in the faces of the children. And can you imagine how well nourished they are in comparison to the average American child?

I'm probably idealizing the culture, but this is a lifestyle I hold in high regard. It is certainly different than what we find in the US. I'm rapt by its simplicity and attention to the small things in life. It's the kind of earthbound existence that I plan on pursuing. Food. Family. Friends. Fun.

I wish I could've grown up in a pastry shop as well.

A Different Kind of Endangered Species

I admit, I've really been harping on the theme of food with this blog. After all, our agricultural system accounts for an astounding portion of the environmental degradation we see around the world. It's a good place to start if we're at all going to change the status quo of "produce it cheap and pile it high." However, I recently realized that my generation simply does not cook. They feel like they don't need to when they still have their parents to do it for them. Not to mention the prodigious number of restaurants, grocery stores and microwavable options. Sure, they may bake some brownies occasionally with friends, but most of us young adults don't know our way around a wooden spoon. What I want to know is:

What ever happened to grandma's cookbook?

When did that go out the window? As I mentioned briefly in a previous post, there's something to be said about culinary tradition. It keeps us grounded in methods suited to more local resources and techniques, as well as keeps us actually involved in our food. Yet somewhere along the line, we stopped passing down dietary aptitude and let ourselves be swept away in a tide of processed fats and sugars. This is something that needs to change. Or else the family cookbook may as well be added to the endangered species list.

Upon having these sorts of revelations, I immediately contacted my grandmothers in New Zealand about the prospect of compiling a family cookbook. My mother has a personal cookbook created over the years, but it's in a sorry state, suffering for old age and a bit of flood damage to boot. And so I figured, what better way to preserve the ideals of cooking than by working with your own matriarchs to collect a unique history of family gastronomy? My idea is to separate it into generational chapters, keeping some sense of lineage intact. I'm hoping to add a section relating my own dietary sensibilities in attempts to continue the evolution.

Basically, not only does it sound like a fun project, but the product will be of immense social, cultural and personal worth. And if you use some sort of fancy online publishing service like Shutterfly, you could even make multiple copies to distribute at holidays. No more worrying about gifts for relatives you don't know terribly well. That's my dream at least.

So there you are. I would strongly encourage you to discover your culinary roots and pay homage to more traditional practices. I really don't think there's anything more rewarding than sitting down to a delicious meal that you prepared on your own or with the help of people you love. It's something worth preserving.

My Current Obsession #4

Right now, all I want to do is try some Smorrebrod. I've been hearing quite a bit about this traditional Danish open-faced sandwich lately, and it has simply captivated my attention in an odd way. I think it's the simplicity yet endless variety of its component parts. All it takes is a slice of bread, a bit of butter, and then whatever toppings you can manage to haphazardly stack on top. Usually smorrebrod is topped with cold meats or salmon, but its really at the mercy of the architect. My only problem, however, that pre-paid dining hall meal plans don't often lend themselves to bouts of culinary creativity. If I can get my hands on a slab of rye bread, some Danish cheese and a bit of salmon, I'll be able to rest easy. But for right now, my mind is whizzing with a million combinations that I'd like to taste.

As a note, the Danes are known for keeping their cuisine fresh and local; a practice we should all strive for. Our agricultural habits have a tremendous effect on environmental conditions after all. And as great as culinary diversity can be around the world, there's often much to be said about embracing well-worn traditions.

In the meantime, I'll sit here in Walla Walla, hankering for some authentic smorrebrod.

Linear Perspectives

A recurring theme in many of my classes so far this semester (which have been keeping me exceedingly busy) is a certain skepticism towards the perceived linearity of history. Of course, there's that old saying, "History is written by the victors," and to some extent it is very much true. Yet there's a certain level of subjectivity that generally goes into deciding which events are memorable, as well as how they ought to be connected to others. In this way, a great deal of isolated occurrences may be strung together on history's ramrod straight trajectory.

The simplest example here is that of art history: An arbitrary selection of impressive artists are placed chronologically and connected by some semblance of compulsory progression. It makes it seem that the development of Post-Impressionism was inevitable after the realistic perfection achieved the the great masters of the Renaissance. The problem is, a prodigious amount of valuable contextual information is omitted by such selective streamlining. All the fat is cut out. Juicy, juicy historical fat. Such we could use to feed and inform our emaciated present.

And this phenomena is clearly not limited to the realm of art history. It just happens to be the subject that my poor class registration time this semester forced me to undertake; though it has actually proven to be quite thought provoking thus far. It makes you wonder who decides what's historically relevant and who is simply forgotten, trampled under the hoofs of time. I think it's important to realize that we're getting all our fact secondhand, plucked by some invisible farmer of antiquity. And we're suppose to believe all these events are inextricably linked by some sort of fate or coincidence. This mode of conceptualizing the past forgoes much of life's randomness, or to use David Oates' favorite word, "wildness."

I for one think we ought to be skeptical of this linear viewpoint. In fact, its acceptance is a main cause of today's misguided environmental movement. The linear model imposes imperatives, as in, "If we cut down these trees, nature never be the same." The regenerative and cyclical properties of our world are ignored in such a case. There are ways establish working relationships between man and the organic resources he requires. Nature will survive us; its tenacity is beyond our comprehension. Things sure look bad when conceiving of history in terms of human life spans, but going above and beyond that perspective, our actions often will have very little effect on Earth. Yet it is certainly possible to cause irreversible damage, and the human race already has in many places. I cannot condone many current practices. What I'm trying to do is remove false imperatives so that we can begin to engage nature in an informed and cooperative manner. Environmentalists are too often afraid of potentially injuring what they love or tainting its perceived virginity. The best kind of environmentalists, however, are those who can effectively work with nature, and are not deceived by the typical short, linear perspective.

I guess that's the gist of it. Linear history is largely a construct of mankind, and it's often worth your while to question who exactly constructed it. Take a look outside, see the unadulterated randomness and uncertainty in life, operating in incomprehensible cycles. Think a million years in the future. Earth will most likely be empty of humans and will have reclaimed what was once ours.

So there's my attempt at connecting art history to environmentalism. Hopefully it all came out coherently enough.