Monthly Archives: May 2010

I Asked For Water, She Gave Me Gasoline

I like rock ‘n’ roll and its illegitimate daddy, the blues, just as much for the mythology as for the music itself. You’ve got musicians who may, or may not have sold their souls to the devil just so they can play the guitar faster than a normal man. You’ve got a death count that rivals the Great War. You’ve got a gritty, seedy underbelly that, say, disco just doesn’t have.

It’s this roughhewn, darker, murkier aspect of the genres that I enjoy. The language is often vicious, almost murderous. Blues and rock just don’t work as well when there’s polish and glow. It needs that darker half to bring out the best qualities. Cheatin’ women, murdered lovers, drinkin’, whorin’ and killin’. That’s not to say that there’s not more upstanding topics brought up, like, say, spirituality, but usually that spirituality is limited to goin’ down to the crossroads and sellin’ one’s soul to the devil.

The grittiness of the music goes beyond the subject matter and language, it’s reflected in the recording of the music itself. Robert Johnson, a blues musician who managed the impressive trick of selling his soul to the devil AND dying young, has only a handful of recordings to his name. They’re raddled with static and pops. His voice wails alone, his guitar the only instrument.  And all of it just adds to the music. The raw raggedness is a necessary ingredient and makes it more than it would be otherwise.

On the other hand, you have a blues guitarist like Jonny Lang. He rocks the guitar like the late Stevie Ray Vaughan and growls through a song like the best of them, but there’s too much foofrah, too much lace and trim. There’s the back-up vocalists, the way too many other band numbers playing horns, basses, violins and didgeridoos. With all that polish and shine, something is lost and it stops being rock ‘n’ roll and it stops being the blues and becomes a gussied up dandy who’s lost connections with his roots.

Just as I’m drawn to horror in books and movies, I’m drawn to music that has to turn its head until that darkness goes.

Dylan Charles

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Music Ain’t Noise Pollution

I’m constantly surprised by how music can affect me. I’ll go long stretches of time without it, forgetting that I even have music on my computer and instead going with dead silence while I’m writing.

But when I do remember to turn on iTunes, things start to happen. I wouldn’t say that I’m inspired. That implies that the moment the Rolling Stones start up, angels descend from the heavens and, in a glorious beam of light, begin to recite words to a story that needs to be written down by my very hand.

Music has a much simpler effect than that. It warms me up, puts me in the mood, gives me the extra little burst I need to actually start writing, as opposed to just sitting there and staring at the screen hoping for something to happen.

Music is something for the background. It’s never been the end all for me. I’ve never just sat around and listened to music. I get bored a lyric in and wander away. Asking me to sit and listen to a song is an exercise in frustration for both parties.

But, even though it has been relegated to this secondary status, it’s still extremely important and it needs to be there; giving me little nudges, prompting me, acting the catalyst.

Dylan Charles

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On Life

One of the big flaws in human thinking has been the tendency to view things from the wrong way round. We see things as they are now and then work backwards from this point. We look at the world around us and see the entire breadth and depth of history as a chain of events that leads, irrevocably, toward the here and now.

We look at our planet and say, “Ye gods, it’s like it was all set up for us. There’s food to eat, it’s aesthetically pleasing and the weather is just right.”

In reality, the planet just is. We developed to fit the planet, not the other way round. The weather is right, because our body hair, fat layers and internal temperatures let us live in the places we do. It’s aesthetically pleasing, because we have instinctual and learned behaviors that show us what looks right (symmetry, bright colors and what have you).  There are things to eat because our digestive systems evolved to eat a wide variety of fruits and animals.

One viewpoint tells us we are the undoubted masters of our domain, lords of the manor who can go where we want and do what we want. The other way, we’re just another in a long line of guests who’ve parked their asses on planet Earth.

Taking it even further, the fact we even exist is a miracle, going from front to back. The planet is orbitally in the right place, our star is the right brightness and size, our planetary neighbors like Jupiter provide us shelter from asteroids: the Earth is a a safe haven in an unbelievably hostile environment. It’s a miracle that life even exists!

What is not taken into account is that this solar system is only one of 200 billion other star systems in our galaxy. And that’s the conservative estimate. There could be up to 400 billion other stars. Assuming there’s a one in a billion chance of a planet Earth forming, that still gives us 200-400 other Earths in our galaxy.

And that’s our galaxy.

Look here:

That is an image taken from the Hubble telescope. Each of those stars and whirls are actually galaxies. Thousands and thousands of galaxies. Some larger, some smaller than our own galaxy.

And that’s just what we can see. The Hubble can only see so far and there is, probably, much more out there. Galaxies upon galaxies, each containing hundreds of billions of stars, spinning through the void.

The Earth, our Earth, is most definitely, a bit of an odd duck. There are plenty of things that could have been different that would have led to a lifeless solar system. But, it so happened, that the Earth was in the right place, with the right star, with the right conditions. And, it so happens, that there are hundreds of trillions of other potential chances for Earths to happen, all over the universe.

While this might reduce humanity’s significance in the grand scheme of things, that doesn’t take away from the coolness that we’re not alone. We’ll ignore the probability and possibility we’ll ever meet intelligent life. And the infinitesimal odds that we’ll be able to communicate with whatever intelligent life we come across.

Let’s just bask in a universe that permits us to exist.

Dylan Charles

Picture stolen from hubblesite.org

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The Daily Grind

One of the things I’ve been bad about is writing every day. I have a tendency to write for a few days and then completely stop for months at a time. I’ve been working to try and fix this, but it’s still hard to get into the habit of doing this every day.

Not that this is a problem restricted to writing. I’ve never been good at forming daily habits. Studying, cleaning, whatever: it’s always sporadic and half-assed.

Part of the problem is unrealistic expectations. I’ll set truly unworldly goals for myself to start. “I’m going to write ten thousand words every day,” you’ll often hear me say. At which point I’ll wander away from the computer to watch Friday the 13th Part III for the tenth time.

So I’m setting the bar way lower this time, going for five hundred words a day and so far I’ve been able to stick with it. It’s a number that’s just low enough that I can get it done before I go to work, but not low enough that I feel like I’ve got nothing done.

Hopefully I’ll have a new story done by the end of the week and I’ll get to have the joy of editing it. Which is, bizarrely, a process I enjoy almost more than the actual writing.

Dylan Charles

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A Touch of the Random

Whoops, been slipping on the blog lately. So I’m going to go with the laziest kind of blog entry: numbered bullet points!

  1. So I got ahold of the Double Down. And it was kind of disappointing. It was just two pieces of chicken with bacon stuck between ‘em. Yes, that’s how it was advertised, but still! I was expecting a grotesquery on par with the McGriddle. Instead it was just slightly bacon-flavored fried chicken.
  2. I’m back working at TechShop! Come check it out, preferably while I’m working. Like, say, tomorrow between 3 and 10.
  3. I’ve submitted three stories to various places around the internet. I feel good about the chances of one of them being accepted, not so sure about the other two. The worst part is the damn waiting. I can’t STAND the waiting. Every day I just sit and stare at my inbox, which doesn’t lead to a lot of work getting done.
  4. I’m working on two different projects right now. One is just a rewrite of a story I wrote ages and ages ago. It was one I had remembered fondly, but good lord, it has not aged well. So I’m taking another crack at it and seeing what can be done. It’s a western, a genre I’ve tackled a few times now.
  5. And I think that’s about it for news.

Dylan Charles

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