Phoenix on SNL on 04.04.2009

"Victim of the Crime" by Phoenix - Alphabetical (2004)

"Genres and the Seppuku Sword" (Chris Cornell - 04.01.2009 - Center Stage - Atlanta, GA - Part 1)

Live from Center Stage - Atlanta, GA - 04.01.2009
(Check out 96.1 for at 8pm EST for the live Chris Cornell set.)


(photo taken by Ross Feingold - The Brass Hat Group - 04.01.2009 - Center Stage)

On this rainy Wednesday evening Chris Cornell got down, got dirty, rocked, funked, spoke from the heart, screamed from those banshee lands that made him famous and also played songs from his new fusion, hip-hop, mojo genreless album. In two amazing days of concerts, it was first seeing Chris Cornell, live with Outernational,


(photo taken by Ross Feingold - Brass Hat Group- 04.01.2009 - Center Stage)

an opening band that really is getting little love from writers and bloggers alike, for reasons I can't seem to wrap my head around had a fun and charged up Clash/White Stripes kinda sound, that gave me a new perspective on the current state of music.

I was also fortunate enough to get passes to Crooked Fingers and Neko Case the following night (more on that in a post coming soon) and one thing that was noticed by a few folks, though first by my insightful friend Ginger was that, "Genres or that the fact that they don't seem to exist as much anymore is a good thing ya know, a really good thing for music." To be honest, at first I wasn't certain if I agreed with her, I had always grown up with this notion that music like almost everything ranging from politics to theories on hyperspace had its proper place in the universe. It was Ginger's insight, and seeing these 4 amazing performers in 2 nights; starting with Chris Cornell, a true rock star still as unique as when I first saw him in '93 at Lollapalooza at Lakewood, Amphitheterer that opened my eyes and somehow intertwined everything else going in the world that brought the concept back together for me. I was and still am amazed by anyone, like Chris, who has the ability to invent and reinvent himself, his ideas and sound after 25 years of music. Seriously can you believe it has been that long? The dude is tireless, hard on the road playing, studio recording, big festivals, small venues, soundtracks, mixes and matches and the constant collaborating with everyone from Soundgarden, Pearl Jam, Tom Morello and Audioslave to writing American Idol winner David Cook's first solo single to now teaming up with hip hop mogul Timbaland that makes Chris such a contradiction and the ideal example of how genres are dying if not already dead, seppuku 切腹 stomach cutting deep and ritual, the way Chris's music would have it done.

Ultimately, each time I listen to his new album Scream the veritas is reminded to me as Chris Cornell's musical flux wears on. Now a days I hear old artists, new artists, those intent on reinventing themselves on purpose and some who happen to do so by chance. Scream, was done on purpose, teamed with Interscope records, and Timbaland, as Chris focused, recording the entire album in only 6 weeks, intent on going, "back to albums that I listened to when I was a kid, where the music never stops...begs to be listened to on headphones all the way through."

I for one like Scream. Ginger who had about 10 minutes to hear the album before we headed to the show instantly liked the album. I have heard rumblings of people being annoyed with this "new" sound, as the crowd mixed with wild cheers and kids still stuck in 1993 who booed every time a Screm track was played. I don't know about critics or what is or isn't cool, that just has never been my thing, but I do know that when I first heard Scream and when Ginger first heard it, it was an instant, no questions asked, "F#%@ Yea!"

The concert was a fine example of an artist with a legacy that few have while still in their prime, crossing over from style to style, trading his niched confines for naked dance ready tracks that still carry the vintage Cornell vocals. I think this album speaks not just to the music industry itself, but the world partitions opening up as 2009 is a year in which we have crossed barriers where an African American President is not merely allowed, but transcendent world wide even as the G-20 summit was going on and President Obama made believers out of nations at odds.

If you look at the most fusion comprised aspects of all these days, 'the web', where cohesion is essential and optimization grows organically (despite the efforts of many to pay to play); the 1.0, 2.0, 3.0 continues to evolve on and on and on, that INDEED efforts like Scream is where it is at and that INDEED that is where it is going, like it or not you best fasten your seat belts because are like Fitzgerald wrote during his novel on a time of roaring change when the economy was also hitting it's great depression, "we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." This time however, we've got a genreless hope, seppuku swords sheathed and the prospects of what is the start of a sound that springs eternal youth.

Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix (2009) by Phoenix

Phoenix is a hot French band (that sounds like an oxymoron right)...Finally after years of waiting and debating and even wondering if this would happen, Phoenix is relevant again this time with their 4th album.

If the preview track is any indication of where they are musically these days, then the moon is is definitely waxing in their direction, because it heavy, terse, electric stuff that always made me a fan. I posted a copy of the video to the song "If I Ever Feel Better" below, and that is vintage Phoenix at their best.

Also be sure to check out the free tune made available for download off their website below, "1901". They have a funky sound that reminds almost of those Stevie Wonder - "Superstition" with a post punk almost New Photographers sound. Definitely unique, definitely worth a listen. Enjoy! The best thing to come out of France since those pictures of French President Nicholas Sarkozy's wife Carla Bruni hit the web. Enjoy!

The Phoenix Official Website

(photo cover art - "persephone : spring & winter" 2.5' x 2.5' acrylic - 2005
by: Sanithna Phansvanh xxx)

(Phoenix's 4th Album)

1. "Lisztomania" - 4:01
2. "1901" - 3:13
3. "Fences" - 3:43
4. "Love Like a Sunset Pt.1"
5. "Love Like a Sunset Pt.2"
6. "Lasso" - 2:47
7. "Rome" - 4:37
8. "Countdown" - 3:55
9. "Girlfriend" - 3:24
10. "Armistice" - 3:04

Track #2 - 1901

"SPLINTS"

Haibun -Japanese: 俳文 haikai writings - is a literary composition that combines prose and haiku. The range of haibun is broad and includes, but is not limited to, the following forms of prose: autobiography, biography, diary, essay, historiography, prose poem, short story and travel.

The haibun may record a scene, or a special moment, in a highly descriptive and objective manner or, on the other hand, it may occupy a wholly fictional or dream-like space. The accompanying haiku may have a direct or subtle relationship with the prose and encompass or hint at the gist of what is recorded in the prose sections.

Typically, the haibuneer takes care not to state matters directly, but rather to paint a sketch, to employ allusions and metaphor, and to craft his writing with purposeful ambiguity in order to allow readers full use of their imaginations and participation in the written experience. Present tense, brevity in prose, objective detachment and implication are common characteristics of modern haibun in English but no characteristic is an inviolable rule.

I can't say what is written below is 'haibun' per se; (see Haibun expert and his peers Jeffery Wood's blog http://haibuntoday.blogspot.com/ for a more official look at the difference), but it is a good reference point for what is being done and has been for many years in many forms around the world. What you will see below is what I prefer to call 'snapshots', think of what a Polaroid photo would like with only words and since they no longer make Poloroids (though they do have an application for them on IPhones) this is clearly the best I can do. Be on the look out for more 'snapshots', music reviews, SL reviews and anything relevant to the Brass Hat tao or sense of that in a more integrated way.

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We work in the dark—we do what we can—we give what we have. Our doubt is our passion, and our passion is our task. The rest is the madness of art." – Henry James

She breaks things. It happens. Does it matter if she cared or if she didn’t? Does it matter it matter if they can never be fixed? These rhetorical questions are just another bunch of whatevers that the great writers love to lament upon.

So as Asta moved from foyer into the main room the scent of perfume followed. It smelled fresh and reminded him strangely enough of their trip to Leap Castle located in north in County Offaly, Ireland. It was a tour they both went on during their vacation of Ireland or Éire as is called by the locals.

He remembered that scent and for some reason, and oddly on this night that that memory was sparked by her passing smell. It reminded him of the fun they had together on that day, during the tour given by a rather old docent whose passions and knowledge such of this supposedly haunted castle that even the scent was explained in great rhapsodically spoken detail where the mention of ghost orchid petals and tulips were at one point a mainstay throughout the castle. When the docent spoke of the lore of Leap Castle she made sure to point out that these were no ordinary tulip, but rather they were 'Asta Nielsen' tulips. Asher remembered this explanation and wonderful giggle and snort that Asta let out, emblematically whimsy that she sometimes made when overwhelmed with a joy, of all kinds of varieties that could strike at any moment.

For Asher it was those kinds of rarefied idiosyncrasies that made him fall in love with her during those uncorrupted incipient days. It was the memory of those kinds of days and that girl, who that most likely kept him around. Why she stayed, at this point of their relationship, was as lucid to his sensibilities as those "spooks" that supposedly frolicked among the orchids and tulips in that old Irish Castle. Sometimes finding reasons, does not find solutions to the problems that were, are and might forever be.

He was seated, muzzled and in his head, as she walked, tall and fast, past his feet, the bourbon glass that sat brown and sad on his maple side table. He quickly reached down for the swill as she passed, disdain or happiness he couldn’t tell, as the ice fresh from the box rattled like a baby’s toy in the crystal cut container.

“Drink up,” he thought quietly to himself, because this might be another long one.

Things around the house had not been the same since the miscarriage even though three years had since past.

The mention of babies or even the mere sight of them on some random television commercial could set-off the silence to which he was now accustomed, thanks in part to his good friend James Beam. There was hollowness in the air that made Tom feel uneasy as it mixed with the scent of dry bourbon and potpourri perfume. He drank yet again to drown the other to sleep, but to no avail. She moved back across the room appearing to be weeping as she walked. He didn’t look her straight in the eyes; because the sound was suffice to bleed whatever warm blood might be left. At least nothing broke tonight, at least not yet…

He lit a candle for no particular reason that he could readily think of other than he wanted to see some fire. The room was already well unmistakable, particularly so with two table lamps, a tall black halogen one by a dying fichus plant in the room’s far corner and the additional light that bled through the kitchen hallway to where he was seated. The candle was scentless and flickered light, as if wanting to go out if gusts or gods deemed it so.

She used to like many candles blazed, beaming not in the Jim way that soothed Asher, but the big bright ones, reds and blues whose aromas evoked memories forgotten from childhood and days spent doing nothing, but sitting quiet and comfortable together. Communication is overrated, especially when you’re comfortable.

As he sat there waiting, waiting for the time to pass, waiting to feel comfortable, waiting for nothing he felt nothing and that in itself was sad. Sadness like the candles that used to burn had faded with fire and smoke, blown away from the breath of one to another. Just a metaphor, but enough for him to see sad and well lit.

What becomes of our greatest mistakes? Do they get enshrined with accomplishments, in halls marked for greatness by men and women long since gone whose deeds are now but stories? For most, himself included, he was one of the fortunate ones who get to bear their own crosses in well lit rooms where the lighting can always be changed. He smiled for a second, not needed a scent to remember and then looked down at the dying candle and blew softly, enough to make end the light, enough for now…

When Asta came home there was a wrong, slightly jarring note: Asher on the back terrace, in the dusk; alone, just sitting there, with a glass of something.

"Honey? What's wrong?" She asked.

"Just waiting for you." He replied so quietly, so tacitly, but ever so caring.

"Ok dear," she nodded with a slight wince and a crumpled note in her hand and made her way back inside the house.

She loved him more than he could ever know; he loved her more than he could ever show.

…Time had passed, and time continued to pass, like random items in a drawer their days, weeks, months, and years casually tumbled together in the entrancement of adult life; and this was a peaceful confusion, like a succession of vivid and startling dreams that, after you've awakened, you will be unable to recall except as emotions. The dreams were good, but it's good to be awake.

Asta sat on the white wrought-iron bench beside Asher. They'd had this heavy thing, now weather-worn and chipped after its most recent repainting, forever.

"Everyone is away, I think. It's like Chateau Elan here."

"Chateau Elan?" Asher looked at her, quickly.

"You know. Mom's and Dad's old place."

"Do they still own it?"

"I guess so. I don't know," Asta laughed and leaned against him. "I'd be fearful of asking."

She took Asher's glass from his fingers and sipped from it.

"Alone here. Us alone. I'll drink to that,” she said looking directly into his eyes.

There were no awkward moment this time, looking the syncopic way of those primary days, when the passions were more than mere phantasms that used to riddle her mind. These were the rivets, the days, the times, similar to the way he was endeared by her giggle that wound up making her love him. Those days at Chateau Elan were more than a series of ignes fatui. Sometimes there has to be more than a spark to start a fire, but for now, for right now this moment was real and it was theirs. And that was enough for all of it.

To Asher's surprise, she kissed him on the lips. The first she'd kissed him, like that, girlish and bold, full on the lips, in a long time.

Indeed.

~ fin ~

"Wine Glasses"

~Pomp and Circumstance~

WGA (c) 2003 - RJF

Revised 3.22.2009