2020-03-02

THE INSANITY OF OPTIMISM IN THE MODERN WORLD


There are few who incur as much disdain from the masses as those who lack optimism.  Social media, in particular, encourages people to ram platitudes down each others throats in the form of "inspirational quotes", all prattling on about how we just need to have the right attitude and how we're in control of our happiness and how we're supposed to think "good thoughts".  Meanwhile, the world around us continues to spiral down the toilet as part of the last great flush of human civilization.  No matter how dire the circumstances, we must NEVER give up "HOPE"!  We must fight to our last breath to maintain the belief that "goodness" and "right" will win out in the end after all.  The majority of our popular fiction and mythology drives that concept into our heads every day.  If you give up, you're finished!  If you give in, there's no chance of winning the battle.  If you throw in the towel, the fight is OVER!  

The question this attitude raises in my mind is, how can any sane individual reconcile the cognitive dissonance between this imposition of optimism against the overwhelming evidence of ones senses and experience that we're all fucking DOOMED?  

There may have been a time when it seemed like we at least had a fighting chance, but that opportunity seems more and more like it has dissolved into oblivion, as fragile and temporal as cotton candy in the rain.  Watching the political quagmire the US finds itself in has been providing the clearest example of the "death of the dream" as the "land of the free and the home of the brave" crumbles into a festering cesspool of bigotry, ignorance and superstition.  The election of that bilious, orange skinned buffoon to the formerly venerated seat of "president", in my mind, was the final nail in the coffin for any sense of hope for humanity's future.  The current election cycle, excruciatingly extended over two years, has provided nothing more than the spectacle of ol' "Uncle Sam" hip-deep in the quicksand, vainly struggling for release, without a branch, twig or blade of grass to grasp hold of to save his life.  At this stage, the final destruction of democracy being perpetrated by the wealthy is no more than an insult slapped atop the fatal injury inflicted by the previous election.

Every day, and in every way, subsisting on this planet becomes more and more difficult.  We are constantly squeezed to do more with less, to expect less for more effort and to sustain our optimism as the vice-grip gets tighter and tighter.  Capitalism is a screw which constantly turns and demands greater output with more efficiency for increased profits, the benefits of which are funneled up to fewer and fewer beneficiaries.  The bottom of the pyramid is expected to suffice with as little as possible while the top is engorged with riches beyond anyone's ability to indulge.  The disparity between these extremes only increases as the mechanism constantly pushes for more and more for less and less. 

This is an unsustainable system, not only economically and socially, but also environmentally, which is where we are about to pay the greatest price.  The populace of this planet are being buffeted against the opposing rocks of climate crises and social implosion as the demand for resources becomes greater while the availability of them diminishes.  Lack of access to basic infrastructural elements such as food and medical care creates the potential for pandemics (oh hi, COVID-19!) while natural disasters inflict destruction on vulnerable populations incapable of rebuilding from their rubble.  

Despite their long history of abuses and atrocities, people are turning increasingly to social movements founded in ignorance and prejudice.  The ranks of groups such as the white nationalists and other race based isolationist movements continue to grow and thrive in this climate as uneducated, blinkered and impoverished masses keep turning to support the very people who continue to deprive them of opportunities.   Instead of realizing the nature and identities of their true oppressors, they opt to lash out against other disenfranchised groups who are just as much victims of these very same oppressors.   The inertia these majority populations provide in terms of cover for the people manipulating them makes it essentially impossible to counteract their influence when it comes to elections where democracy is supposedly our last hope of salvation.  Combined with voter suppression, gerrymandering, and flat out corruption, there is essentially no chance for alternative or honest political discourse to occur.  

The media landscape has done everything possible to make this bad situation even worse.  Media outlets routinely disseminate misleading or downright deceptive information in the guise of "news".  The "commander in cheat" of the US has, in his own idiot-savant way, parleyed the concept of "fake news" into a means of discrediting truth itself, to the point where his followers are no longer capable of even the most basic skepticism with regards to the information they're being fed.  All the while, the so-called "alternative" side crumbles into petty squabbles over language manipulation, fleeing from terms such as "socialist" because it has been demonized without question by either side.  

With all this, however, we're supposed to still have hope for change.  We're supposed to believe that there's some magic bullet out there that's going to set it all to rights.  If I say I've given up hoping for salvation, I'm considered to be suffering from clinical "depression" or lacking in the "right attitude".  Whatever the case, it is never considered a sane, justified and healthy thing to honestly recognized the hopelessness of this situation and begin to try to work from a position which acknowledges that the evil within our species has taken root and bloomed into full flower.  

There is no honor in fighting a losing battle.  The chances of surviving it at all become lower and lower the more one struggles against the inevitable.  There are times when retreat or surrender may be the best strategy by which to move forward.  Pretending like all these problems are simply going to work out one day is not only just delusional, it's dangerous.  It's also unhealthy psychologically to keep forcing oneself to be optimistic in the face of something so obviously desperate.  When the storm has blown down the walls, it makes no sense to keep hiding in the house.  It's time to find some other shelter. 

2020-02-17

ISLAND OF THE DAMNED - STRANGE PARADISE


On September 8th, 1969, a bizarre Canadian produced Gothic soap opera debuted on US TV by the name of Strange Paradise.  On November 20th of that year, it also began airing on CBC TV in Canada.  The show followed the tragic and ghostly intrigues of millionaire, Jean Paul Desmond, on his doomed island "paradise" of Maljardin ("sick" or "evil garden").  With his mysterious, but faithful servants; the gloomy and morose housekeeper, Raxl, and the silent, brutish Quito, at his side, we begin the story as Jean Paul carries the lifeless body of his beloved wife, Erica, down to the family crypt shortly after miscarrying their child and succumbing to eclampsia during its birth.  Thus begins a tale of lost love and a calamitous attempt to defy nature by restoring a life which should have been allowed its natural end.  Both aided and tormented by his baleful 300 year old ancestral ghost, Jacques Eloi des Mondes, Jean Paul embarks on a quest to revive poor Erica through either science or superstition, which leads him to make damning pacts with his home's demonic denizens, leaving him cursed and vexed by his efforts.  

 Only Maljardin would have a medicine cabinet full of poison!

Over the course of 195 episodes, we follow Jean Paul through 3 major story arcs, encompassing numerous cast changes and a shift in setting from the evil island to an equally ominous ancestral mansion on the mainland.  Only Jean Paul and Raxl remain throughout the full run of the series, though other characters do survive through much of the three primary arcs.  Despite the shifting cast, the overall tone and mood of the show remained consistent.  A sense of gloom and despair permeates from beginning to end.  While the show was originally conceived to cash in on the popularity of the US produced, Dark Shadows and its suave vampire, Barnabas Collins, Strange Paradise managed to distinguish itself as a unique entity in its own right, surpassing its low budget constraints with a sense of style and drama and a distinctive set of story lines which made it much more than the sum of its parts.  

 Raxl & Quito discover a secret skull in Maljardin

A big part of what makes this show endearingly successful, even though it's a half century old, is the characters and the actors who gave them life.  Chief among them is Colin Fox as Jean Paul Desmond.  Fox's portrayal of the lanky, dashing millionaire manages to make him likeable even in his most morose and arrogant moments.  At his heart, beneath the curses, delusions of grandeur and pacts with malignant spirits, there is the core of a moral, caring man who has been pushed beyond his ethical limits by his obsessive love for his late wife.  Indeed, it is his love which drives Jean Paul through all of his poor choices.  Fox also has the task of portraying the ancient ancestor, Jacques, when he periodically possesses the body of Jean Paul as part of his bargain to help restore Erica to life.  Fox glibly flips between the dour, dismal Jean Paul and the frivolous, "devil may care" boisterousness of Jacques with an ease that gives the character a perfect sense of schizophrenic menace.  Fox's talents would go on to provide him a long, successful career as a character actor, remaining active right up to the present day.  


Colin Fox contemplates murder as Jean Paul Desmond

The other key performer in this series is Cosette Lee as the black shrouded housekeeper, Raxl.  Lee was a veteran of the stage in Toronto, but had few actual screen credits throughout her career.  However, her presence is always potent as she dominates her scenes.  Though she would often stumble a bit with her line delivery, something I'm sure could have been remedied if the show hadn't been so hastily produced, she always held her character and offered a stark, powerful disposition.  Raxl, it turns out, is far more than a mere servant and is actually a voodoo priestess and centuries old protector of the Desmond family, sworn to thwart all malevolent spirits which constantly lurk at the fringes of the clan.  Though her effectiveness at this task may be in question, judging by the torments which befall poor Jean Paul, her dedication and commitment are unflappable.  Cosette imbues Raxl with a sense of sternness tempered by compassion even as she often would suggest killing those who threaten her charge, much to Jean Paul's consternation.  

 Cosette Lee as Raxl

Beyond these two core characters, the rest of the cast come in as support players, but there are notables among them.  Former pro fighter, Kurt Schiegl plays a kind of warped "Finnegan" to Raxl's ghoulish "Casey" as the lumbering, mute Quito.  Likely due to his thick Austrian accent, he was left speechless as a character, but none the less impactful for his combination of menace and gentility.  He might crush your skull if threatened, but he was just as likely to protect a vulnerable young lady in distress.  Jack Creley would join the cast in the second arc as the nefarious Laslo Thaxton.  Creley would have numerous notable roles throughout his career, most unforgettably as Professor Brian Oblivion in the cult classic, Videodrome.  Unfortunately, he was lumbered with a most unnecessary toupee for  this role, but he didn't let it get in the way of his performances.  My personal favorite supporting player is Tudi Wiggins, who initially played the resurrected Erica Desmond and then returned in the second arc as Erica's doppelganger, actress Helena Raleigh.  Wiggins was expert at imbuing both characters with a duplicity which left you wondering of her true motives no matter what seemed to be the evidence in either direction.  She would become a regular on daytime dramas throughout the 1970s and 80s.

 Tudi Wiggins as Erica Desmond

The above were the highlight players, but the acting wasn't always quite up to par, though some of the lesser talents at least offered some amusements in their less than stellar performances.  David Wells, who played the entitled and often abrasive "last in the line" heir, Cort Desmond, would only ever have Strange Paradise as his singular screen credit and it's no wonder.  He was more than adept at "chewing the scenery" with his overly dramatic emoting and petulant, simpering presence.  But he was always hilarious to watch as he gouged his way through a scene.  His biggest competition for play acting was Sylvia Feigel as the air-headed heiress, Holly Marshall, who managed to survive through the first 2 arcs of the series.  She was a perpetual victim throughout and flitted about from one potential paramour to another,  Always pouting about in a daze, she too would have a very limited list of credits outside of this series. Most of the other characters were, more often than not, mere fodder for fiendish ploys ending in death and destruction.  The first arc of the series on Maljardin is notorious for concluding with the rapid dispatching of all but 4 cast members before switching the action to Desmond Hall for the remainder of the series.  And, although the body count may have mounted exponentially at times, we were always spared the indignity of legal ramifications, which only ever peripherally threatened our protagonists.  

 David Wells chewing the scenery as Cort Desmond

In terms of setting, the producers managed to do a lot with a little.  At the beginning of the series, there are barely 3 complete sets used to encompass all the action.  There's the great hall and crypt of Maljardin and a Tiki lounge on the mainland where all the scenes take place for the first few episodes.  Eventually, other sets are introduced; the secret ritual cave of the Serpent God, an entirely incongruous white walled scientific laboratory (with a medicine cabinet filled with nothing but bottles labeled "poison") and Jean Paul's bedroom with it's hidden surveillance room.  This last set was equipped with a reel-to-reel tape deck, which he uses to record his darkest thoughts (and lament his lost love).  There's also a TV monitor hooked up to a switchable series of hidden cameras, allowing him to spy on the many ill fated guests to his island retreat.  One of my favorite little touches in the surveillance room is that, whenever Jean Paul is recording his audio diary, the microphone connected to the tape recorder is actually picking up the audio for the scene in the show, popped "P"s and all.  It's probably done for budgetary reasons, but it does add a certain authenticity to the action.  

 Kurt Schiegl's Quito is never sure if he wants to cuddle or kill you...

Once the action switches to Desmond hall for the latter 2 thirds of the series, we are treated to a whole new host of sets including the main foyer and study of Desmond Hall, a number of bedrooms and the hauntingly eerie "secret" study, complete with candles, cobwebs and a full human skeleton, presumably of some unfortunate ancestor they just couldn't be bothered to free from his shackles after having rotted away there for who knows how long.  We also have the home of Desmonton's favorite witch, Irene Hatter.  played with maleficent flair by Pat Moffat, another actor who would only ever appear in this series.   Most humorously, in terms of set dressing, the exact same sofa and chair used in the great hall of Maljardin re-appear in the main study of Desmond Hall, despite the devastating fire at the former locale.  But I assume budget constraints meant that hitting the local thrift store for another set was just out of range of their limited pocket book.  

 The forgotten prisoner of Desmond Hall

One other key element in establishing the mood and charm of this series is the incidental music.  It was produced by Canadian company, Score Music Productions.  Throughout the series, there is a finite set of musical themes repeated, ad nauseam,  in each episode.  The constant and frequent use of these themes creates an overall mood of doom and menace in the series.  It is fascinating to note that the same production company would be hired in 1973 to score the incidental music for the short lived Canadian science fiction series created by Harlan Ellison, The Starlost.  For this series, many of the themes used for Strange Paradise would find new life in this space adventure recounting the fate of the last remnants of humanity, adrift in a giant "Ark" spaceship, struggling for survival.  

Pat Moffat as witchy Irene Hatter

I first encountered Strange Paradise in the early 1970s when it was in syndication and playing on late night TV.  I only ever saw the first couple of dozen episodes before it was taken off the air (or I lost track of it), so I only had very vague memories of it from my childhood.  I remember loving the show and being fascinated by Jean Paul and Raxl, in particular.  For many years, I thought it was lost in some network vault somewhere, but I was thrilled to find that it had been uploaded to YouTube a few years ago.  Since then, I've watched all the available episodes, twice.  My first run-through included some episodes from the third arc, so I've seen probably up to episode 160 of 195.  At that time, the source I was viewing them from ended up deleting the show.  Since then, I've found another channel which has a near complete set up to episode 130.  I have never seen the final 30 or so episodes, though there are plot synopsis online.  A DVDr set of the complete series appears to be available, though I have no idea if that offer is still valid or if it's an outdated listing.  

 The cursed rabbit!

Being able to see most of the series again after all these years has been a real joy for me.  Despite its low budget, flimsy sets and often clumsy acting, there is something, some essence, which transcends these physical limitations and makes this show truly fascinating from beginning to end.  The producers were at least able to create a world compelling enough to manifest its own sense of reality, beyond its physical constraints.  That's a bit of alchemy that's rather rare in the world of popular media, especially for programs of that era.  

If you wish to view the series as it currently exists online, the following playlists are available.

EPISODES 1-65:  MALJARDIN 
EPISODES 66-130:  DESMOND HALL

2020-01-19

THE JOKER'S ON YOU


When Joker, the movie, was initially being promoted, I had my suspicions about it because it was getting a lot of negative reactions and being greeted with a great deal of concern over its presumed message and possible influence.  Personally the one thing that made me feel apprehensive about it was a comment from the director regarding his motivation for making the film.  Todd Phillips, who had made his name with the "frat-boy" humor of his Hangover films, had stated that he felt "pushed" out of doing comedy because of "PC culture" (political correctness).  He felt that comedy had become too constrained by PC mania and that he was no longer able to produce the kinds of comedies he wanted to make. 

Now, people protesting about "PC" pearl clutching have been putting me on alert a lot lately.  As someone who enjoys an inappropriate laugh as much as any open minded individual should, I've also come to recognize that many of those who seem the most put out by PC criticisms are the ones least likely to be hurt by prejudice and bigotry.  For a long time, I was on-side with a lot of the concerns over people getting too uptight about everything and anything, but I've come to recognize the security of my own privilege in these areas and how that makes me often immune to their damage.  The main difference with me is being homosexual.  That personal perspective was key for me to begin to comprehend the fine line between humor and abuse.  

"Political Correctness" is something that is, fundamentally, applied to comedy in most instances where it occurs.  It is frequently a response to some level of humor which an individual finds offensive, disparaging and/or cruel towards some social group.  Most frequently, the people who complain about PC culture are heterosexual white males, who are feeling the pinch of a dying Caucasian patriarchy.  They're upset because they can't freely use the "N" word or belittle and disrespect women or fill their locker rooms with homophobic slurs with the kind of abandon they associate with "the good old days".  They're the guys who want to make things "great again".  So, whenever someone whines about PC culture, my first response is, what do you want to say that you don't feel free to say now?  

I still see a lot of great comedy being produced now, so I don't buy into Phillips' assertion that he can't make those kinds of movies anymore.  I see them being made all the time.  So this whole impetus for making the Joker movie set me into a defensive posture approaching the film because its premise is highly suspect to me.  What made me want to give it a viewing, however, was when I started to read some reviews from people I respect and their feeling that it did actually have something valid to say about what's going on in our world.

That said, after watching the film, I do feel that Joker is something of an examination of the nature of humor.  I'm going to try to avoid spoilers here, but be warned if you haven't seen the film that I may slip up on a couple of plot points necessary to illustrate my premises.  I will try to stay focused on the primary character setup, but read on at your own risk.

Inappropriate laughter is the foundation upon which this story rests.  It's integral to the character created by Joaquin Phoenix.  Arthur Fleck is an individual who has a completely askew relationship with humor.  He's a "professional" clown who is virtually devoid of any sense of humor, yet he is prone to fits of uncontrollable laughter to the point where he carries a laminated card around like a deaf person might to advise strangers of his affliction.  Yet everything about his life is a misery.  There isn't a single affirming relationship in it and every stranger he encounters offers nothing but abuse, humiliation and rejection.  It's an oppressively negative existence from top to bottom, especially if you're disenfranchised.  

If you're not a "have-not", like billionaire business mogul, Thomas Wayne, or late night TV host, Murray Franklin (Gotham's answer to Johnny Carson, played by Robert De Niro), you're likely indifferent to the suffering of those with nothing and view them as victims of their own weaknesses and inabilities.  In the case of Franklin, you see them only as fodder for ridicule in order to satisfy the sadistic leanings of your audience.  There's no empathy in this city.  It really isn't very pretty what this town without pity can do!  

All totaled, you have a picture painted, in grotesque, sloppy clown makeup, of a world which has lost its sense of compassion and caring and that is exactly the world we live in now.  This is the real message of the movie.  Personally, I don't think PC culture is what's stopping people like Phillips from making funny movies.  I think the crushing, crumbling world we live in is getting harder and harder to laugh at and that's why making mindless bro-comedies about drunken abandon is less satisfying these days.  It isn't that you're not allowed to laugh at anything.  It's that we're in such a desperate, deplorable state as a species and a civilization, the adage that, when faced with tragedy, the best remedy is to laugh, has become too disingenuous to bare.  This disaster of a time we live in simply isn't very funny when we're starring down the barrel of extinction as a real possibility. 

As far as film making goes, this is a damn good movie.  The look of it captures the time it aims for perfectly.  It's dirty and there are some lovely callbacks to classics from the past, especially of the Scorsese variety.  And it does a surprisingly good job of fitting itself into the established mythology of the character, or rather the landscape the character is meant to inhabit.  There's even some nice nods to previous incarnations of the character in popular film and TV, from the loose resemblance to Cesar Romero's color scheme to Jack Nicholson's snatched string of pearls to Heath Ledger's bloody slash across his mouth.  It manages to put Joker into a new perspective while acknowledging and respecting his past incarnations.  

While writing this up, I notice that there's a Joker 2 movie announced, so I am hoping they don't mess up the purity of this one by overworking the concept.  This current film is a bitter pill that our culture needs to swallow, not because we've lost our sense of humor under the burden of political correctness, but because we're all sitting, dull eyed and dim witted, as our ship sails off the edge of the world and nobody seems to be too bothered about trying to stop it. 

2020-01-07

I WORKED HARD FOR THE MONEY



On Thursday, January 7, 2010, I was dismissed from my position as business analyst at the company I'd been working at for almost 16 years.  That was ten years ago as of this writing.

I began there back in February of 1994.  It was a company that offered one of the first telephone dating services available in North America.  It was the beginning of social media, albeit in a crude, limited fashion relying on a telephone switchboard connected to a computer running voice message exchange software.  When I started, I was hired to monitor recorded audio content to screen for things like kids trying to use the service,  men pretending to be women and people being abusive.  It was essentially a virtual "bouncer" type of role.  Very quickly, I was promoted to working customer service; helping to set up membership accounts, take payments via credit card and advise people on how to use the service.

Originally, the software used was licensed from a developer back in Toronto, but the owners decided they'd rather reverse engineer their own version of the system rather than pay exorbitant fees and this would also give them complete control over future development of the product.  To this end, they hired a developer and put him to the task of recreating the product with their own code base.  In order to do this, they needed someone to work with him to make sure he replicated the functionality correctly.  As I was very familiar with the existing system by then and had diagrammed it out in order to allow me to better help customers navigate the features online, I was put to work with him to document it, test it and manage its resources such as audio files for system prompts.  This then lead to me managing the audio for the production systems, including scripting, recording, post production and archiving.  During these early years, I was doing my regular customer service work, running QA (quality assurance - testing), managing all the audio resources and documenting the system requirements and functionality, essentially all on my own.

As this software was implemented in production and the company began to expand to markets outside of Vancouver, I started to focus in on certain areas of my work while they hired others so I could offload tasks to them.  I stopped working the call center and then an audio specialist was hired to managed the voice prompts.  Next, people were hired to do QA and finally a business analyst (BA) team was created to help with the documentation and requirements management as we expanded into developing other integrated systems for business management.  These included automated payment systems, customer service tools for account management and call center automation and resource management as the business expanded to providing service throughout Canada, the US and Mexico.  By the early 2000s, the company had grown to nearly 500 "associates" (the term they preferred) with several floors of offices almost taking over a mid sized building downtown.  By this time, I had achieved the title of senior BA and was earning in the high five figure salary range.  Then, the tide turned.

By the mid 2000s, the internet was starting to surge in terms of offering dating and socializing services and telephone based services were starting to feel the squeeze.  They tried desperately to shift into this market, but couldn't figure out how to monetize it to compete with the revenue  generated by the phone services.  They even had the opportunity to buy products like Grindr before they became big, but missed the boat when they couldn't negotiate an agreeable price.  As the vice grip of falling sales and saturated markets started to take hold, the inevitable "restructuring" waves began to hit.  These became known as "black Thursdays" as they always happened on a Thursday, for some reason unknown to me.

It would begin with everyone logging into their computers in the morning to find an appointment in their calendar waiting to be accepted.  People quickly noticed that they weren't all going to the same meeting room.  Depending on whether you were staying or leaving, you'd go to a specific room.  One for the slaughtered and one for the saved.  I survived two black Thursdays, which were always traumatic for both groups.  The people that were still employed were left feeling the loss of their coworkers, people who had become friends and with whom they'd developed dependencies in order to do their work.  Suddenly processes were torn to shreds and no one knew how the work flow was supposed to function.  They'd also be aware that they could be next, so everyone felt the sense of dread in their gut every time an unusual appointment appeared in their calendar.

In September of 2009, the second major purge occurred and this one hit me particularly hard.  For years I'd been working with the department managers to build the Business Analyst team and we were a tight, effective group, but this restructuring resulted in all of the team being dismissed save for myself and one other BA.  The aftermath sunk me into a depression as I felt like I was on the verge of being next.  I'd recently celebrated my 15th year with the company, a seniority only exceeded by the company founder/president, but my sense of futility and doom became a self fulfilling prophesy as the new decade of 2010 started off with me getting my exit as I had feared.  As they say, when you're trimming the tree, best cut the old branches first.  The third time was the "charm".

When the axe came down for me, because of my seniority, I was given a sizeable severance, plus, because I'd seen the writing on the wall, I'd stopped spending and started saving for the prior six months.  As such, I walked out the door in decent shape, financially.  I was still traumatized, but I tried to think positively and use it as an opportunity to pursue my passion as an artist and see if I could make a go of that.  It didn't work out, as one might expect, and eventually the money ran out.

As I began to seek work as a BA again, I found the opportunities I thought would be there for someone of my experience were nowhere to be found.   Companies love to try to poach you when you have a job, but when you don't have one, most of them consider that a check in the "con" box.  My age also proved a negative factor.  I was too "over the hill", as far as technology companies were concerned, given that I'd slipped past the 50 year old threshold.  Tech companies want young, fresh faces, not older people with higher expectations.  As I was being passed over time and again for jobs for which I should have easily been qualified, I started to lower my sights to less ambitious roles, but I couldn't even secure a position in a call center for tech support, likely because I was considered "over qualified".  

I found a short term contract position in 2011, but nothing beyond that other than odd jobs.  Ultimately, I've found myself spending the last decade in the wilderness of unemployment, running out of savings, wracking up credit card debt, leaning into social assistance and selling off my possessions in order to make ends meet.   In tandem with this, my health took a nosedive starting in 2013 and I've been dealing with those issues while continuing to tread water on the fringes of poverty.  I can still pay my rent, barely, but my standard of living has had to be constrained to a fraction of what I was used to while I was gainfully employed.

Now, at the beginning of 2020, a full decade after my "career" ended, it feels like a dream, like it happened in another lifetime to someone else.  I am often reminded of a line from the 1986 version of The Fly.  "I'm an insect who dreamt he was a man and loved it. But now the dream is over..."  I can't imagine being successful anymore.  I can't seem to find any optimism or the confidence to give me the attitude I'm supposed to need to "succeed".  I know I have abilities and skills, but I don't know how to offer them in a way that overcomes the perception that I'm on the outs of "society".  I've fallen off the map and don't know how to get back on.

Ten years is a long time to be disconnected and the longer it goes on, the harder it is to plug back into the system.  Yet so much of what I see of where the world is going makes me question whether there's any point trying.  After 16 years of being a critical contributor in the success of a business, I was still just a piece of the machine, easily sacrificed when the time came.  Any sense that I was part of a team or "family" was shattered by that rejection.  I'll never make the mistake of thinking a company has any concern for people again.  I know that it's only about the dollars and the people are no more than a means to that end.  So I don't feel compelled to want to participate in that degradation anymore.  I don't have any desire to hop onto the alter of capitalism to willingly sacrifice myself to its heartless god.

I don't know how much longer I can continue down the road of this life given my constantly dwindling resources and the complete lack of perceptible opportunities.  Honestly, it amazes me that I've managed to keep going for this long.  Somehow, just the right amount of buoyancy seems to avail itself to keep my nose above water.  But who knows how much longer that good fortune will be sustained.   I just keep putting one foot in front of the other. 

2019-12-27

TEN YEARS AFTER - ANOTHER DECADE IN THE CAN


As we come to the close of another decade, I've been doing a lot of thinking about how we use this particular factor of time to define out social evolution.  The decade is often used as a platform for nostalgia and reminiscing.  Depending on your age, you might look back on a particular decade as a "golden age" or base your generational identity on the events and products of that time.  We think of fashion and music and movies within a classification system which relies on this arbitrary 10 year span to create a sense of progression.  Our identities as individuals and groups conform to these cycles and stamp us with signifiers which link us to the times of our youth, adulthood and old age. Overall, the use of this segmentation helps to give us a sense of forward momentum, the feeling like we are traveling along a continuum and heading towards some kind of accomplishment. 

It seems to me that Western civilization began delimiting decades as cultural and generational eras beginning with the 20th century, or perhaps just before it.  I suspect it is closely tied to the industrial revolution and remains linked to technological advancements to this day.  Prior to that, things didn't change much except in terms of centuries where you might get an enlightened period or a dark age or ongoing wars between nations and ethnic groups, but for the most part, the way people lived didn't change too dramatically until machines and electricity came into the picture.  Then you get an exponentially accelerating process of social upheaval as successive new technologies emerge.  Within that, the decade became a convenient marker by which to retrospectively assess and assimilate the primary social shifts which occurred in the past.  

From what I've observed, the means and methods of consuming media have been of particular importance in defining these shifts.  Perhaps the advent of written texts and then the printing press would be the first major propellants of cultural evolution.  Then we have the telephone, radio, recorded media (photography, film, audio and video tapes and discs), Television, computers, the internet and, finally, wireless broadband among the key communication revolutions.  The advent of each of these and the process of them becoming ubiquitous within our civilization has carried with it a unique set of social adaptations which changed the way we relate to one another.  Ideas could be shared with increasing speed, spreading the assimilation of new concepts and changing the way we perceive and comprehend reality.  The very act of recording is, in effect, a sort of "time machine",  allowing us to venture into the past and project ourselves into the future. 

Economic circumstances were also a key factor, particularly in the first half of the 20th century with the "roaring twenties" defining an era of abundance and economic boom, while the "dirty thirties" was a decade of financial ruin with the social upheaval which resulted ultimately culminating in a decade marked by a world war and the prospect of literal planetary extermination coming within the grasp of our species for the first time.  But in spite of the looming specter of nuclear annihilation, the 1950s dawned as a decade of prosperity and plenty.  Post war, birth rates soured, income increased and the new technologies were making themselves known as the cultural concepts of modernism & futurism became embedded into the psyche of the mainstream.   Technological advancements could be experienced directly as new machines and appliances entered the homes of large numbers of people in a mostly egalitarian way. 

Popular culture became critical as a social glue in the mid-century decades.  TV brought entertainment into every home and youth culture became an economic factor as manufacturers and  service industries realized that teens and preteens had access to wealth and resources never before available to so many.  The "middle class" came into its own in the West.  Things like rock and roll music could motivate millions of young people to purchase all sorts of products from clothes to cars to cans of Coke.  The sales pitch became an art form and began to develop a sophistication capable of manipulating susceptible minds.  Propaganda was turned towards selling goods instead of pushing ideology.  Capitalism became the ideology and its success was measured in profit margins.  

The 1960s ushered in the "space age" as the move to put people among the stars took hold and drove the science of the day, but other sorts of travel were also in the cards thanks to the advent of psychedelic drugs, a technology which came into prominence at the beginning of the decade as  clandestine experiments by the military and government leaked into the streets.  Thanks to the subversive efforts of certain intellectuals in the universities, these substances became widely available to the youth of the day, with the result being a realization that they had a voice and could take to the streets to demand change, as opposed to being no more than pawns in the capitalistic cat and mouse games of product peddling.  

This was all expertly crushed down in the 1970s when the youth were diverted away from activism as the "me decade" offered up self-indulgent fashion trends like disco and punk to provide a sense of self expression while simultaneously feeding the cash registers of the corporations creating all the clothes and music being consumed.  But this only worked to a certain extent as some valuable lessons were learned in the previous decade and actual social change did manage to start to creep into the cultural fabric.  Race relations, gender politics and sexual orientation all found their feet during this decade and began the process of fighting for rights and recognition which had been denied up to this point.  The world also began to recognize the environmental toll being exacted on the planet as pollution, in its various forms, started to show that it wasn't just nuclear destruction which offered an existential threat to humanity.  Our day to day abuses of our natural resources  could also upset the balance enough to trigger potentially catastrophic consequences.  

The 1980s saw the advent of the "computer world" as the first personal computers began to enter the home, though it wouldn't be until the next decade that these would truly make their mark.  However, culturally, the electronics boom drove society into it's first dalliances with cell phones and satellite TV opened up the possibilities of specialized programming and niche markets.  Above all, the capitalist money machine kicked into high gear as "greed is good" became the mantra of the mainstream.  Wealth and decadence were the hallmarks of this neon day-glo, big hair, broad shouldered decade.  It seemed as though money was all you needed to buy your happiness and your social standing.  

This culture of prosperity and technology carried over into the 1990s as the personal computer truly found its home on the desktops of middle class homes throughout the west.  Digital became the watchword as CDs and DVDs brought crystal clear, pixel perfect reproductions of content to consumers.  The skeleton of the internet established itself during this time and the potential of unlimited connectivity loomed.  Cell phones transformed from awkward bricks into something that more closely resembled the fantasy sci-fi communicators of Star Trek, small and palm sized, easy to pocket, making communication possible virtually anywhere at any time.  

The new millennium dawned amid paranoia about "Y2K" disasters as people began to realized how much they'd become dependent on technology and its computing power.  The prospect of a simple miscalculation sending global infrastructures and economies into chaos drove crisis culture into realms of conspiracies.  The build-out of the World Wide Web broke business models for media distribution and monetization as file sharing and rampant pirating of content meant that the container was no longer king in the world of data distribution.  Ones and zeros could be transmitted effortlessly from any one location to another, so artifacts like CDs and their physical counterparts became irrelevant and lost their value.  

Cable TV exploded in the 2000s and brought with it a host of product, both good and bad.  Sophisticated dramas on HBO were balanced against trashy reality TV on other specialty channels.  Being famous became an end in itself as Warhol's "15 minutes" prediction turned into nightmarish reality.  Economically, the house of cards was collapsing as born out by the 2008 crisis when banks and other financial institutions worked their way into disaster through speculation, unsustainable lending and sheer fraud on a scale never before imagined.  Politically, the uncoupling of reality from expediency set the stage for a kind of delusional governance which would fully bare fruit in the decade to come.  

This brings us to the 2010s as we close out this most recent decade and look forward to the 2020s.  Looking forward is something I say with a bit of hesitancy as we sit now on the precipice of some  disturbing realities.  With hindsight being what it is, looking back on this last decade reveals some rather unsettling chickens coming home to roost.  That sense of perpetual progression seems to be hitting the brakes now as the true cost of our follies begins to be calculated and the sums start hitting into zones of danger which had originally been projected for times much further into the future than our present.  

I think if there's anything that defines the past ten years, it has to be the proliferation of social media  in our culture.  Though the technology to support it first came into being in 2007, the effect of it has truly been felt since the beginning of this decade as platforms like Facebook and Twitter have taken root and created this environment where facts have become optional.  People are now free to create their own reality based on any old bias or prejudice they wish to indulge.  Things are true because people want them to be true.  "Fake" is a meaningless term now because everything is fake.  One media source is just as good as another.  It's only a matter of personal preference.  

Environmentally, the alarm bells have been going off throughout the decade as severe weather anomalies and climate change become more and more difficult to dismiss.  People looking back on this decade, if there are any to do so in the future, may likely pinpoint it as the tipping point for climate collapse and irreversible damage to our ability to sustain life.  There is every chance we have already gone too far in terms of damaging ecological systems for us to effect repairs or stop the rest of the dominoes from falling.  

Politically, we're living through something that would have only been imagined in a Batman movie plot in previous decades.  Now, blatant criminals have stolen control of governments away from the electorate and prop themselves up with deluded masses of ignorant lackeys who follow because they've been bred to see selfishness and cruelty as virtues to be celebrated.  People protected by their social media bubbles of self deceit rally around a buffoon like Trump and cheer as he spits insults and abuse, thinking this is a display of authority when, in fact, it's nothing more than a perversion of power.  There is no level of debasement he is capable of which would dissuade them from their support.

Socially, this decade has seen the complete abandonment of the concept of a "middle class" as a small percentage of the mega-wealthy horde resources beyond any practical need and deny basic sustenance to the rest of the planet by preventing wages from growing with productivity and lobbying to repeal fundamental social gains made by unionization and labor movements in previous decades.  They've convinced themselves that their money will buy them protection from the social collapse they're actively engaged in promoting as they undermine every social institution which used to help advance civilization.  Profit motives have corrupted the courts, healthcare, education, policing, the military and spirituality.  There isn't a single sanctuary remaining where the obsession with profit at any costs hasn't desecrated the concept of empathy, community and caring.  We're all merely swirling around the toilet for the final flush, grasping at any piece of shit we can get our hands on before we get sucked down the drain, once and for all.

Where generations have previously followed the procession of advancement, always with a sense of optimism of working towards a better future, we are now at a precipice where more and more people are convinced there's no turning back and that there's no hope for salvation.  We can't pretend anymore that these are just tough times, struggles we've gone through before and that we'll work our way through.  That delusion has lost its usefulness as a salve to ease the pain of the wounds that keep being inflicted upon us.  We're worn raw from the abuse and know there's no plan to relent or show mercy.  The master is on the whip and any pretense at accommodation has been abandoned as an economic burden, too costly to justify.   This last decade has sucked the wind from our sails, particularly the latter half of it.  When blatant criminals can hold power in what is called "the land of the free", then the world has gone mad, even if that nation has always been something of a fraud in terms of being a proponent of "truth and justice". 

My own personal journey through this decade as been one of disconnection and loss, right from its onset.  Where the 1990s & 2000s saw me find footing in the technology sector, establishing a 16 year long successful career in software development, I started off 2010 by being unceremoniously ejected from that position and have not been able to secure any stable employment since.  As I come up to my 10th anniversary of unemployment, I find myself in a kind of netherworld limbo, the "50 plus dead zone", where I'm too old to be considered for any regular employment (50 being the arbitrary cutoff currently in vogue), but not old enough to retire and collect a pension.  In fact, the same people who won't hire people over 50 are also now pushing for holding off retirement until after 70, though they don't seem to see any issue with that 20 year purgatory they're creating in the process.  Though I subsist in a state of disenfranchisement from the main economic engine, I'm still somehow allowed to exist in this position where I have a roof over my head and food on my table, ostensibly because I must still serve some meager economic purpose.  The frightening thing is that I'm actually one of the lucky ones.  By some anomaly of mathematics, I'm still considered in the upper percentile of affluence on this planet.  Go figure.  

Now, we're on the threshold of the 2020's.  It's a nice looking number, to be sure, but what of the humans which will be defining this coming decade?  Are they going to double down on disaster or turnabout into a rebound?  Personally, my money's on the former as all signs point to a continuation of the madness which has stamped this past decade with its obscenities and inexcusable delusions.  I suspect humanity needs a lesson in humility and survival before the idiots start to consider that you can't defy nature and reality indefinitely.  Eventually the check is gonna come due and we're going to have to pay up for our hubris and wanton disregard for the limitations of our existence.   The big question is going to be whether it's too late to right the wrongs and chance course.  If there are historians to look back on what we did this past decade, let's hope we at least serve as an object lesson in mismanagement rather than an epitaph for the planet. 

2019-12-20

40 YEARS BEING QUIET - THE LIFE OF JAPAN


December 20th marks the 40th anniversary of the release of Japan’s third LP, Quiet Life, issued on this date in 1979.

If I remember correctly, it must have been very early in 1980 when I came across it in my local record shop back in Thunder Bay, ON.  I’m not sure if I’d ever heard of the band before seeing the record.  I don’t recall them being mentioned in the music press before that album.  Maybe a stray ad for one of their first two albums might have crossed my sight line without garnering much notice.  

The cover of Quiet Life, however, made an immediate impact.  David Sylvian looked so cool.  Goddamn he was one suave fucker, to paraphrase Frank Booth!  That Andy Warhol bleach blonde hair, the “talk to the hand” gesture, the porcelain skin and those lipstick red lips, all soft-focused in overexposed white light, like he was walking past heaven, but couldn’t be bothered.  Mick Karn was on the back cover looking almost as pretty and, inside the gate-fold sleeve, the remaining three band members were similarly posed in their fashionable finery.  They still had this hint of their glam roots showing, but they’d cleaned it up with some “new wave” hipness which kept the androgyny in tact without it seeming sleazy.   


Japan were the forbears of the “New Romantic” look, which would explode soon after with bands like Duran Duran, who shamelessly pilfered Japan’s look, in my opinion.  But what would soon become apparent upon listening to the record was that these were not just a bunch of glamour boys with a fashion fetish.  These guys could actually play and compose some amazing music.  They were all self taught and, after their initial dalliances with crass exploitation, their 3rd album found a balance between image and substance and a certain legitimacy took hold in their sound and subject matter that didn’t feel forced or put on.  


Prior to this album, Japan had been heavily laden with a "New York Dolls" kind of trashiness.  It came across as slightly vulgar and excessive, though not quite as crude as Johansen & company.  David’s singing style on Japan's first two LPs was a sort of whine, like a spoiled brat and there was this swagger to their approach that came off as vaguely pretentious.  The songs, however, weren’t total trash.  In fact, they had some decent hooks, though the lyrics were occasionally naive and juvenile.  Technically, they were accomplished musicians, but it was all painted and powdered up with so much foundation, lip-gloss and neon hair that it was often laughable as a total package.

Then came the single, Life In Tokyo, and working with producer Giorgio Moroder, which set the band suddenly deflecting into another trajectory.  Though David’s voice still had its bratty snarl, the music clicked into a cool Euro-disco pulse thanks to Georgio and he handed them the keys to reshaping their identity.  Life In Tokyo was issued in April of 1979 and, by the time Quiet Life came out in December, the transformation from slutty rock prostitutes to cool handed romantics was complete.  Now, they were more late stage Roxy Music than New York Dolls, but with some Berlin Bowie iciness added to their sound to sculpt them into a sleek techno-new-wave machine.  


The title track for the album kicks it off with echoes of that Moroder-style synth pulse from Richard Barbieri.  Mick’s fretless bass slips into it’s undercurrent and gives the tight, metronome perfect disco beat from Steve Jansen something rubbery to bounce against.  Rob Dean’s guitar slices in with minimal, clean rhythmic slashes that make the whole thing glint with a sheen like a well polished luxury car. Then David debuts his new crooner baritone voice and sings a song about detachment and departing, leaving the old behind and looking forward.  It’s a perfect way to display this shiny new version of Japan as they propel into an album that cruises effortlessly from one pristine track to the next.

In spite of the impeccable perfectionism displayed in the production of this LP, it never comes across as overwrought, contrived or lacking spontaneity.  The balance within the arrangements always retains a sense of proportion and things like solos and fills are delivered with a meticulous restraint that is strictly dedicated to serving the greater good of the song as a whole.  As glamorous and glowing as it all appears, it doesn’t feel showy or ostentatious. It’s tasteful and constrained, but driven by a taut energy that keeps the momentum going forward at all times. At a mere 8 songs, the album is a concise expression of their newfound oeuvre.  All the tracks are Sylvian compositions save for a cover of Lou Reed’s Velvet Underground classic, All Tomorrow’s Parties, which is rendered like a spectral dream.  The track begins and ends with an asynchronous looping synth refrain that creates the sense of entering into another dimension.  


Japan would go on to do 2 more stunning studio albums after this, each one pushing their creative potential to new heights.  But creative differences would take their tole by the time Tin Drum made them a household name (at least in the UK) and their final tour in support of that album would become their epitaph with the release of the live LP, Oil on Canvas.  Post breakup, solo careers would deliver many more albums of exceptional music with varying degrees of success, but nothing near the popularity of the band at its peak.  A short-lived reunion as Rain Tree Crow in the early 1990s delivered one more stellar album of original material before they went back to their solo careers.  The death of Mick Karn in 2011 was a tragic blow to fans of the band as his presence was a key ingredient in giving them their distinctive sound.  Japan has since managed to establish a legacy that shows every sign of lasting along with other greats from the era.  All of it truly started to come into focus with the Quiet Life LP.


2019-11-25

DROP THE BASS - MY FAVORITE PLAYERS


I was going to do a “Top 10” list of my favorite bass players, but I came up with 11 names, so in the spirit of Nigel Tufnel, I’m going that extra digit for sheer intensity’s sake!  These are all people who have made me appreciate the instrument in a special way and whom I personally feel have contributed something unique to the way the instrument is used.  The order is somewhat arbitrary, though some names do have more significance to me than others and I’ll make note of that as I go along and talk about each. 

The bass guitar, in my mind, was initially a rather mysterious presence and lacked the glitz and glamour of its more easily identifiable six stringed cousins.  When I first started seriously listening to music, I didn’t quite comprehend what it was, but gradually, I discovered bands and players who brought my attention to it and made me realize that the bass had a special power all its own. This is something which has become more and more apparent as “bass music” (funk, dub, drum & bass, downtempo, dub-step, etc) has gained prominence since the 1970s. 

It was really funk and reggae music which first gave the instrument a place at the front of the pack, making it a tool for driving song structures from the ground up.  Where it was traditionally used as merely a means to fill out the lower end of the frequency range and give an arrangement a sense of presence, it was also neglected for a long time because most people didn’t listen to music on stereo systems capable of reproducing those frequencies.  It was only in the late 1960s when “high fidelity” sound systems became more ubiquitous that you start to hear producers going for full stereo mixes as a default instead of focusing on radio friendly mono productions.  FM radio also made it possible to broadcast in hi-fi and the album came into its own as an art form rather than as a medium for hosting a hit single and a bunch of filler tracks.  When all these factors came together, you started to hear the instrument take on a new roll as a critical component rather than merely a sonic spectrum filler. 

With that in mind, let’s get into some specific individuals who are responsible for bringing the bass into prominence.  

Carol Kaye


I’ll begin with this lady though my appreciation of her has only surfaced in recent years with the release of the documentary film, The Wrecking Crew.  Though I’m old enough to have grown up with many of the 1960s hits she played on, I had no idea who the musicians on so many of those records were until seeing this film.  It was a true moment of revelation to witness this unmasking of these incredibly talented and significant music makers.  Finding out she was responsible for the bass line in Sony & Cher’s hit, The Beat Goes On, blew my mind as it was one of the very first songs I can recall where a bass line was integral to the essence of the song.  She may not have a writing credit for it, but that hook is EVERYTHING to me when I remember it.  And then there’s that descending step bass at the beginning of Glen Campbell’s Wichita Lineman, another example of the instrument being used to provide an immediately recognizable musical motif, one which identifies the song the instant it saunters out of the speakers.  Those are only a couple of examples in a career spanning decades and hundreds, if not thousands, of recordings.

John Deacon


As a teen in 1977, Queen was the first band I got into in a BIG way.  They were the first group I delved into in order to pick apart what they were doing and try to figure out what was going on structurally.  Before them, I’d listen to music and only hear a totality of sound and not be able to identify individual elements and instruments.  With Queen, however, I was so fascinated by what they were creating, the palette of sounds they were using and the variety of styles they encompassed, that I was compelled to analyze it and decipher what was the source of each sound.  Though there was more than enough to digest with the voices and Brian May’s guitar parts, John’s bass playing still managed to come through and distinguish itself.  Deacon was the quintessential rock bass player in many regards, often seeming stoic and quiet, but there was a lot going on under the surface.  He impressed me to such an extent that I decided to switch instruments I was learning at the time.  I had taken up guitar lessons that year and, after getting into Queen, I felt driven to bug my parents to buy me a cheap Fender bass copy (as close to the one John played as possible) and start taking lessons on that instead.  John proved himself again and again as a song writer and, on Under Pressure and Another One Bites the Dusk, he showed precisely how a bass line could become a hook that could sell a million copes of a record.

Jah Wobble


John Wardle, Christened “Jah Wobble” by a drunk, slurring Sid Vicious, was a buddy of Johnny Rotten’s during the Sex Pistols days.  He was one of the "gang of Johns", which included John Beverly (Sid), Johnny Rotten and a fellow named John Gray.  He was a rough and tumble punk with a reputation for putting the booze back.  When the Sex Pistols fell apart, Rotten became Lydon again and recruited Wobble, who had no real experience, to play bass in his new band.  It was a stroke of luck and possibly divine intervention that put the bass guitar in this man’s hands because it became an instant appendage for him and he took to it like the proverbial duck to water.  Right out of the gate, he guided the instrument into a new zone of significance in Public Image Ltd.  This is apparent from the first notes of the first single from their “First Issue” debut LP.  That bass line kicks off the song, Public Image, and announces the arrival of the band with a thrust and vigor that left no question as to their intent.  From there, Wobble would provide the foundations of their sound throughout two seminal LPs, the second of which, Metal Box, cementing his position in music history as a true innovator.  Borrowing from reggae and “Krautrock” and combining the two elements into a fusion of low frequency omnipotence, Wobble set the controls for the heart of the sub and never looked back.  Since leaving PiL, he’s secured himself as the ever prolific and consistent producer of quality bass music spanning over 4 decades now.  His influence on my own creative direction has been immeasurable and unparalleled.

Mick Karn


Japan first came to my attention in early 1980 with the purchase of their 3rd album, Quiet Life.  Beneath all the makeup and pretty clothes, they turned out to be a rather talented collective of self taught musicians and Mick Karn easily stood out with his slippery fretless bass work.  The way it slid around underneath Steve Jansen’s syncopated percussion, such as on songs like The Art of Parties, created a a sinuous, fluid motion that gave the foundations of the music a kind of elasticity that I’d never heard in other bands.  Karn’s solo work continued to explore the range of his instrument until his tragic, untimely death in 2011.

Holger Czukay


Far more than simply a bass player, Czukay nevertheless established a distinctive presence for the instrument in CAN and in his solo works.  The primal, muted thud of his playing technique meshed with Jaki Liebezeit’s drums in a way that fused them into a single entity, accenting the bottom end of the rhythm section.  It was an understated approach, but hid a powerful propellant which was crucial to the interplay of grooves that was CAN’s hallmark in the best of their songs such as Halleluhwah.  You can see this in some of the live footage of their performances, where Holger’s bass and Jaki’s drums push the energy levels of the music and build up tension as they strain against each other while remaining seamless. 

Tina Weymouth


Talking Heads stood out from the pack of CBGBs bands for all sorts of reasons, not the least of which was their petite little powerhouse of a bass player.  At a time when rock music was largely dominated by men, she was a precious anomaly - this diminutive mouse of a girl busting out the funkiest grooves on that beast of an instrument.  Her most notable moment with it came with the infectious dance hit from her side project, Tom Tom Club, and their funk masterpiece, Genius of Love.  Here was a bass line that would get sampled and recycled again and again, for generations of hip-hop music fans.  On Talking Heads transcendental afro-fuck classic, Remain In Light, her playing took on dimensions heretofore unheard in alternative rock.  

Peter Hook


Joy Division took the sound of the bass in a completely different direction than most other bands, particularly within the post punk scene.  Developed primarily for practical reasons, so that it could be heard more clearly on stage, Peter Hook decided to emphasize the top end frequencies of the instrument and inject a melodic, riff-centric approach that became Joy Divisions calling card.  His riff for She’s Lost Control is a perfect example of this technique being used to stamp a song with an unmistakable trademark, something that is recognizable within seconds of it sounding out.  

Bootsy Collins


William Earl Collins may have got his big break with James Brown, but he was never suited to Brown’s micromanaging, regimented band leading style.  Thankfully, George Clinton unharnessed Willy’s wings and let him fly.  "Bootsy" was born in Clinton’s open format freak-fest within the P-Funk family and soon brought the gospel of “the one” to the dance floors of the era with unstoppable riffs like on Mothership Connection.  R&B, soul and, ultimately, funk music in the late 1960s and throughout the 1970s truly ushered in the age of bass as it was used as a central structural element in arrangements for the first time.  A funky bass line could send a crowd into a frenzy and no one was funkier and fresher than Bootsy, baby!

Robbie Shakespeare


Coming close on the heels of funk, reggae music also recognized the potential of the bass guitar and, in the heat of the Jamaican sun, slow cooked that smooth, deep resonance which would become a hallmark of psychedelic bass music for decades to come.  That deep throb was more than just a backup for the other instruments.  It drove the melody in a way that was completely new in music.  Within that scene, Robbie Shakespeare became one of it’s most accomplished and prolific practitioners, playing on some of the greatest tracks to come from the island such as Bunny Wailer's Blackheart Man

Jean-Jacques Burnel


The Stranglers were initially swept up in the surge of “punk” bands in the UK in 1977.  Though they were labelled as “punk”, they were actually a bit too old and accomplished as musicians to truly merit the label.  Frankly, they outclassed the average punk band by a few miles and part of the reason for that was the distinctive snarling bass of “JJ”, Jean-Jacques Burnel.  JJ had stumbled on his sound by accident while trying to work with a blown speaker cabinet.  Listen to Peaches and you can hear that stamp of authenticity in the roar that comes from his instrument. That raunchy buzz drove the band through their first three albums before he decided to tone it down a bit before it became too much of a limitation on his style.  But even with a cleaner, more subtle approach, JJ’s playing retained it’s distinction and swagger.

Bill Laswell


The New York “No Wave” scene is where I first encountered Bill Laswell as part of the group, Material.  It was their Temporary Music EPs which initially caught my ear, especially tracks like Reduction.  His frequent use of a strange filter effect, which gave his bass a kind of “talking” auto-wah sound, became a signature and point of reference when trying to identify him in any mix. Soon, I started to see Laswell’s name crop up over and over again in one production after another.  Eventually, it was clear that this man had his hand in an endless number of pies in the alternative scene and this activity only grew exponentially throughout the 1990s and into the new millennium.  Work with artists as diverse as Public Image Ltd and Yoko Ono and innumerable solo and side projects established a landscape of music driven by a love of atmosphere and low frequencies.  It’s impossible to comprehend the full scope of Bill’s work over the years because he’s simply done too much to be able to fully capture it all.  Stylistically, he’s traversed the realms of jazz, funk, dub, reggae, folk, techno, ambient, metal and nearly every other contemporary genre he could find his way into.

There are certainly other names I could and should check here, but I’ll let you, dear reader, come up with those on your own.  I’m sure I’ve missed one or two of your personal favorites, but I had to draw the line somewhere and these were the names that came to my mind the most readily. Bass guitar has dominated my musical explorations now for almost half a century and it still has the seductive allure to get my heart beating, my head bobbing, my toe tapping and my soul soaring.