March 3, 2020

But This Is Wondrous Strange | Week 9

Week the 9th

We're late, again, but don't let that fool you. We'll probably be late quite a lot of the time. Just saying. Work is still shifting schedules, and I'm figuring out how to time manage a few creative projects. Speaking of which, here, have a shameless plug for my podcast. No matter, here's the thing!

Oscar Wilde Was Right

I listen to a lot of music. And I, too, get annoyed by those who claim they listen to "everything," at which I narrow my eyes like the Fry meme—not sure if indiscriminating or flippant. I listen to many different styles and genres, sure, but I'm specific in the musicians I love. Examples: I like Aphex Twin, but not The Orb. Budgie but not Black Sabbath. Janelle Monáe, but not Azealia Banks. Cut Copy but not LCD Soundsystem. Ludwig Göransson but not Hans Zimmer. And so forth.

One thread that does tend to run through my rock blocks—or more generally, songs with lyrics—though, is earnestness. I've been embarrassed a number of times reading reviews or comments on some band I love when they disparage them for being pretentious, or pompous, when in my mind it's just earnest feeling. I know it's been cool forever to dismiss caring and heartfelt sentiment, but I can't get behind it. Sure, sometimes it's overblown. But I'll accept that if it means I can champion sincere wishes to see positive and productive change in the world. And that world includes self-realization, to be sure.

My admiration and pleasure from being a fan of Rush for decades has waxed and waned, but they're a prime example of this earnestness in music. Neil Peart's lyrics occasionally veered into the patronizing, but most of the time they were honest and passionate, especially when confessional or describing the mundane.

If I could wave my magic wand
I'd make everything all right

I'm not one to believe in magic
But I sometimes have a second sight
I'm not one with a sense of proportion
When my heart still changes overnight

More recently, Nada Surf fits the bill

My headphones are playing a duet
With a fire engine
I walk through the cloud of an ex And I feel no tension
All the buildings are blocking the wind
Of late October
'Round the corner, it shoots out again
And I'm starting over

as does ...And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead.

There are hours that go
You lose your chance
It all disappears
I know the hours go
The fire comes
It all disappears

I like these bands for their music, but also for their sincerity, their integrity, their burning desire to understand and elevate. I rather wish I cared less about integrity, though it seems in short supply. Selling out still kinda sucks to me. I'm not talking about pure commercialism, I want artists to get paid. But I bristle at podcast ads and winks at promoting other products. I know popular "free" stuff has to be paid for somehow, but punk ethos tugs at me. Now that the US is rife with scorn and cynical trolling, I think we need more overt humanity. More love. More care about the deeply human. It is, after all, important to be earnest.

Of Horse Heads and Dysfunction

(or, Back in the 90s)

(c) Netflix

For whatever reason, I like horse headed things. Quite some time ago, I did a comic book series with my cousin, Adam. My main character—O'Sea, later O'Shea—was an anthropomorphic horse-headed humanoid, very like Bojack Horseman. There were a few similar creations in comics by then (Red Shetland was a popular parody of Red Sonja), but it just seemed to fit the guy.

(c) Marcus Harwell

As my everyman—horse, he was a lot of things I wished I was: confident, brash, funny. A lot of the story centered on him and his world, but not exclusively. So when Bojack popped up on Netflix 6 seasons ago, I had to watch. Bojack was better drawn, but wasn't at all like O'Shea. This was a deeply troubled and rich actor living in present-day Hollywoo.

I recognized and resonated with Bojack in more ways than I liked. He, too, suffered self-sabotage, depression, enthusiasm for the obsession of the moment, but no small amount of cynicism for the positive attitude and fake nicety of what has come to be known as "The Industry." The machinery of entertainment has given Bojack a lot of money. It also ground him around in its gears in exchange, and oiled them with his humanity. Bojack is damaged, and very selfish, and he uses others. In exchange, he punishes himself with massive and constant self-loathing. The two go together, in this case.

Are we supposed to like Bojack? I did, despite wanting him to stop hurting those around him, get help, and face consequences (which—spoiler alert—he does). I think that kept me watching, as did the sense of humor¹, even when it was a difficult experience. Yeah, it's one of those "difficult" shows, if it resonates at all. I'm not a good source of easy watches, of "I just want to relax and watch something fun" shows. It's essentially about the emotional lives of the characters, less about the story of them. It hit me hard, and I recommend it without reservation, and you'll never hear me say "if you can get past the horse head."

Consume

The recent Spawn on Me podcast with Marvin Bing was illuminating and inspiring. If you want to know why representation in gaming (and everything else) matters, this is it.

I got on an Echo and the Bunnymen kick recently. I wish I'd tried an album when I was in high school, but I hungered for heavy stuff, and they were a different, shimmery kind of darkness. Too bad, because they're really good.

Warren Ellis closed his last newsletter with this, and I dig it:

And I'm done. Look after yourselves, look after each other, shun the toxic, embrace the peaceful and stop reading fucking Facebook. I'll see you next week.

Pax Exeunt!