December 12, 2024

Transmission 05 | 12.12.24

Friends,

I’m transmitting from the last legs of autumn. In no time, it will be winter solstice and we'll begin our way back towards the light of longer days. But holdup—first things first…

Things are strange. I don’t know about you, but it feels like events aren’t quite unfolding the way we’d hoped in some pretty big ways. What can we do? Work to change things for the better, of course. Beyond that, take care of each other and look for the light and spread it however we can. If it's not easily seen, we dig for it.

Seasonal Music

For me, art and music are primary sources of light so I've been doing a lot of looking and listening as I dig for the light this autumn. It wasn’t until I started reading Henry Rollins’¹ Stay Fanatic! series that I began to think about music as something seasonal. I don’t mean holiday music, but artists or albums that feel perfectly in sync with a specific time of year. It's interesting to think about these tendencies. We adapt our food and clothing to the seasons—why not music too? Rollins’ approach to seasonal music is as meticulous as you’d expect and structured to the point of obsession:

“For [David] Bowie, it’s Lodger in August, Scary Monsters in September, Low in October, Station to Station in November, “Heroes” in January, live shows from the 1978 tour in February, and the rest of the catalog whenever else. Minor Threat, summer only...Other warm-weather favorites include Eno’s Here Come the Warm Jets”

– Henry Rollins

I can only imagine what the calendar must look like in the Rollins house. My approach is more seasonal than month-by-month, though I do have tendencies and The Cure is certainly one of them. For me, their season begins in September and can stretch into April, or May, depending on the weather.²

This year, the season began with the release of a couple of tracks from Songs of A Lost World—the first record by the band in 16 years. Then, on Halloween night, I listened to the whole album in bed—just as it dropped. In the dark, with the sounds of hard rain and fireworks as a backdrop, I enjoyed a rare gothic delicacy.

It’s been a delight to see this record embraced so widely and warmly—proof that The Cure’s music still resonates deeply with many. At 65, Smith and the band remain as lyrically and musically vital as ever, even with the youngest member now in his late fifties. What resonates most, I suspect, is Smith’s unflinching honesty as he addresses the world—and himself—always examining both the beauty and the darkness. A testament to their artistry, they allowed the songs time to evolve, letting the work shape itself rather than bending to trends or market demand.

With another record nearly complete, a documentary, and a large-scale tour, planned in the next year or two, their work ethic is inspiring—a reminder that not only does creativity not fade with age, it can become richer in depth. In this broader landscape, Smith (and Rollins) are proving there’s still so much more to give.

The Long Distance Practice

When it comes to creative longevity, some artists truly expand our sense of what’s possible. Portland artist Eunice Parsons passed away a few weeks ago at the truly impressive age of 108. Her last show, as far as I know, was at 100. Beyond that, she kept working daily as long as she could. While she was fluent in a range of visual mediums, her practice centered on collage for over 60 years.

When a public figure dies, the media often responds with a narrative of loss. Sometimes that’s fitting, especially with premature or tragic deaths. But when I think about someone like Eunice Parsons—living a long, productive life, clearly engaged with her ikigai—I think: Amazing. You did it. What else could we ask for? PBS captured her spirit in a short piece some years back, that’s well worth watching.

"Collage, like life, is an art of imperfection, of the torn edge and the spot of glue."

– Eunice Parsons

Just five days after Parsons passed, Dorothea Rockburne (95) opened her first European survey show, The Light Shines in the Darkness and the Darkness Has Not Understood It, at the Bernheim Gallery in London. Rockburne is another powerhouse artist who has maintained an art practice inspired by her combined interests in math and astronomy for over 70 years. This quote captures some of the drive, wonder and bravery that have powered her life in art so far:

"Wherever I lived, I had a table set up and I worked at least one night a week doing math.

I've always liked to do things I don't know how to do, read books I don't understand — because something strikes.

I don't want to do what I know, I don't want to read for comfort level. My comfort level is to be where I don't know anything."

– Dorothea Rockburne

For those curious to learn more, Christian Nguyen’s short documentary offers an intimate glimpse into Rockburne’s thoughts and process, in her own words.

Into The Eno-Verse

Standing between these artistic generations is Brian Eno (75), a pioneer of creative longevity marked by constant reinvention and boundless curiosity³. It wasn’t just his music that first drew me in to Eno—his fascination with generative systems and creative processes opened my mind and fuelled my early work.

Decades ago now, I created my own Oblique Strategies deck, compiling prompts I found online from the versions Eno and Peter Schmidt created. Over time, I expanded it with my own prompts, some co-created with artist Andrew Herfst, tailored to our work together. This deck has been an essential part of every version of my studio ever since⁴.

Eno’s approach—a combination of curiosity, systems thinking, and artistic evolution—has continued to influence my practice and inspire creative longevity.

After patiently waiting for an opportunity to catch a screening, a crew of us headed down to the VIFF to see Gary Hustwit's new generative documentary, Eno and it was well worth the wait. This isn’t just any documentary—it’s a scaleable⁵, constantly evolving exploration of Eno’s world, offering a unique cut each time it’s screened.

Hustwit partnered with Brendan Dawes to create “Brain One,” a generative software system that crafts each screening’s unique cut using an algorithm trained on over 500 hours of archival and new footage. Hustwit also worked with Teenage Engineering, known for their innovative electronic instruments, designed the interface used to perform each screening.⁶

I am a bit of an Eno nerd but the film doesn’t require prior knowledge to enjoy it. For newcomers, it’s a perfect introduction to the man, his work, and his thinking. For longtime fans, it’s an endlessly rich dive into the Eno-verse by design. The film is inspiring on multiple levels—exploring Eno’s dimensions as an artist, Hustwit’s own evolution as a filmmaker, and the creative potential of generative systems.

Hustwit’s meticulous filmmaking, refined over his last several films and perfected in Rams, is shaken up here by the subject matter and generative delivery of Eno. It’s fun to watch him relinquish just enough creative control to embrace the playful unpredictability of chance.

"Any constraint is part of the skeleton that you build the composition on – including your own incompetence."

– Brian Eno

++ Just in as I was about to send: The streaming premiere of Eno will take place on January 24th for 24 Hours with multiple versions of the film screening during that period.

The Other Seasonal Music and Finding Depth in Constraints

Constraints have always been essential fuel for my creative work, from core projects at the center of my art practice to the lighter bits like playlist-making on the edges. In 2009, I created the first version of a playlist I called Holiday Snow Globe, with a simple goal: make a December soundtrack I actually wanted to hear. Eleven months later, people started asking for the next one, and so year two was born. If I was going to repeat it, it had to be different somehow. Each year, it’s been about pruning tracks that no longer resonate and uncovering new gems that feel just right. Over the years, this has amounted to hundreds of hours of digging, reviewing, and cutting. There have been many years where I've wondered if enough was enough, and a few years where it nearly didn't happen. In some of those nip-and-tuck years my daughter Sophia and I collabed on the list, bringing some new energy and fun into it.⁷

As I approached this year’s globe, I found myself wondering again: why do it? Where do traditions come from, and when do they shift from meaningful rituals to habits we repeat without thinking? When does a good tradition become a zombie tradition—something lifeless we simply repeat out of routine and expectations?

It might seem like I’m obsessed with Holiday or Christmas music, but I’m not convinced this is true. Music-obsessed? For sure. But the Christmas part might be more about the creative challenge: working within a constraint to craft something that ultimately brings joy to others.

Even within a focused area of the arts, there’s an endless amount of work waiting to be unearthed. One project I’ve been knocking away at for years reminds me of this: exploring the music released the year I was born. It’s a simple filter that excludes most of recorded music history, yet still leaves me with more music than I could ever hope to discover (let alone truly know) in a lifetime. And this is without considering music recorded in said year but released later—the quantity can be staggering.

I recommend trying this yourself, if you haven’t already. Start with playlists from your birth year on your favourite streaming service—or dive into Wikipedia if you want to get truly lost. It’s a fascinating glimpse into the cultural universe you arrived in.

With Snow Globe, the filter remains the same each year, but new music keeps emerging that might meet the criteria. Interestingly, it’s often not the latest releases but the hidden gems, small labels, lost tracks, and odd bits floating out there in the musical universe that may just bring me back again next year to dig deeper. Until then, I hope you enjoy this year’s edition!

Take good care and happy holidays,

✌️D