Crushing Krisis

Comic Books, Drag Race, & Life in New Zealand

rollingstone

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But, i think, if there were more hours in the day, then there would be no sense of urgency. As much as my ambitions outstrip my intent, and as much as i lament that i typically have too much energy to be contained within a simple 24-hour cycle, i know that if we just added two, or maybe four or five hours to the rotation then suddenly they’d each become that much more meaningless, like how i always make a trip to Borders on a day that i’ve earned overtime pay — not because i’m trying any less hard to save money than i was the day before, but because it’s harder to remember its value when it comes in a larger amount.

The 24 hours that we’ve got make me conscious of what i’m doing. Contemplating a re-read of all of this year’s lamentably edited Rolling Stone, i instead rerouted my attention to cracking open Atlas Shrugged for the first time; rather than sit down for a second daily helping of The Sims i tidied up my room and rehearsed for the impending fourth season of Trio. How else can i do all that i keep resolving to do, other than cutting out the things that i don’t?

I am convinced that those who claim “There just aren’t enough hours in the day” really need to be given a few less hours to work with for a week or two. After that they’d be fine.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2003/09/106303981028794987/

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If you were to ask me to talk about my biggest hobby, i would simply say, “Music.”

If you were to ask me to elaborate on my favorite elements of music, i would reply, “Hearing it. Making it.” Or, more explicitly, i enjoy being a fan of music and being a writer of music. One can involve being very critical of other people’s work, while the other requires an unending faith in my own.

Sometimes i have trouble reconciling the two. For example, in a book of my agonizingly chosen flying-to-Florida collection of music, the new Bright Eyes disc faces a burned cd of my recent trios. I have no qualms in admitting that i am skeptical about Conor Oberst’s new effort as Bright Eyes; i was skeptical before ever hearing a song by Conor and continue to feel that way now that i have bought a third album of his. He’s not so different from a previous version of me; a recent Rolling Stone article featured a picture of his slight vegan frame with a guitar almost dwarfing it, singing about heartbreak in a style whose lineage includes Brian Wilson and Bob Dylan.

I happen to really enjoy my new Trios;though the imperfections of my performances are more noticeable when crisply preserved in digital format, i delight in hearing the sound of my own voice captured in such a faithful fashion. I have worked hard for that voice… failing auditions, slaving at voice lessons, struggling through choir. Singing and singing until the sound of my own voice became transparent to me; hearing myself on a recording of “Tangling” or “Excuse” feels the same as performing the songs live. I cannot distinguish anything about my vocal performance other than whether i am hitting the notes i intended to. I cannot be critical of it

Conor is just about a year older than me, and i don’t think he is much of a singer. His bio calls his vocal stylings “quak[ing] with the tumultuous energy that only youth can produce.” Tumultuous energy sounds very much to me like unsteady notes and failing vibrato. There are parts of his album Fevers and Mirrors that i physically cannot consume — he screams, yowls, stretches his voice past the breaking point. I do it too, of course, all rock singers do at some point. But, to me it never sounds as rough… as pained. And, i am doing it for my website… him, for an international audience of consumers..

I ostensibly bought his new disc Lifted to review it, but i know that i am really casing up the competition. In the past i have wondered at the success of others who are only slightly older than me, and whose work i adore. Now, i am wondering about the success of someone who i could very plausibly be; who shares the exact years of pop culture inundation with me, if not some of the same influences. I happen to think that i sing better than him; i also think i write more accessible songs. But, i am in college, and he is on the road. I am on the dean’s list, and he is in Rolling Stone.

My two favorite hobbies will be staring each other in the face deep inside my bookbag as i walk through the metal detector this morning, bound for Fort Lauderdale. They will both air themselves, probably more than any other music i will have with me. And, when my family asks me what i did this year, all i will say is “i am on the dean’s list.”


Merry Christmas.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2002/12/90080825/

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And, now, for another episode of Writer’s Block Theatre.

When we last left our hero, he was awaiting a response to his record reviews with bated breath. Would he finally get to write for an honest to goodness newspaper? We pick up shortly after Peter receives the paper’s reply as we fade up from black. Though he was initially joyous at their friendly invitation of “Welcome Aboard,” over the course of the day he realizes that the congratulatory email has delivered him the worst possible news – his new editor is more interested in what he feels about records than what he thinks, and is hopeful that he will revise his reviews to this effect.

Peter stammers as he recoils in fright from this newly transformed message. “But… but… feelings are the root of all bad record reviews!,” he exclaims as he slowly backs away from the screen. “I’ve spent years detaching myself from new records so i can offer tidy unbiased opinions of them. Saying that any record i own by someone other than Ani or Tori makes me feel anything is an utter lie! I’ve reduced reviewing music to science!”

“Is that so?”

A voice rises from behind him; Peter whirls as though he’s being confronted by another of his worst fears only to find Amy sitting on his guitar amp nonchalantly leafing through a Rolling Stone. He opens his mouth to speak, but she silences him with a wilting glance.

“How you feel will influence anything you write, Peter, so you can just come down from the damned pedestal and write with some feeling for the benefit of all of us people who don’t consider each cd purchase a new child.”

Temporarily ignoring the implication that he would feel the need to be scientifically detached from all of his children so that none would feel more liked than the next, Peter madly gestures back towards the screen. “But, Aim, feelings? Why should someone buy a record based on how i feel? They don’t even know me!.”

Amy fixes Peter with a cool glare from over a two-page spread of Ewan McGregor. “Peter, are they really compromising your journalistic morals here, or is it a possibility that you’re so excited about this job that you just have cold feet.”

Peter’s only reply is silence.

“Well?”

“Erm… possibly mildly chilled feet.”

Amy nods to herself. “Just as i thought,” her face is buried in the magazine before the next sentence escapes her lips, “now get to writing.”

His moral quandary solved by the quick wit of his friend, Peter is again faced with the computer screen — now sinisterly blank white as it awaits his feelings about the Wilco record. Slowly, he approaches the keyboard.

(Cut to black, commercial airs while Peter frantically tries to decide if he honestly feels anything about Yankee Foxtrot Hotel)

https://crushingkrisis.com/2002/06/85175275/

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Just read: Ani DiFranco breaks out her pen and comes off as not only a credible artist but an apt critic of corporate bred media. I’ve been feeling a media-criticism essay welling in my boots for a few weeks now, but until that pans out try Ani’s opinion on for size. Also, while you’re reading media-critique, check out John Hiler’s witty article on how blogs both augment and interfere with more traditional means of journalism. And, while i’m linking to things, the musician i met on the street last week was just profiled by Rolling Stone. For the third time. RS doesn’t seem to be featuring the new mention online right now, but you can catch the other two on his site. So, um… i’m a little bit excited — hopefully he emails me back sometime.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2002/04/375059345/

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My ears are ringing terribly.

I sat there for a minute, between swiveling from the Eight Arms to Hold You book and the Tragic Kingdom book, trying to think of what i could play. Even though i have two electric guitars, i haven’t played very much loud electric guitar in my lifetime — guitar so loud that it distorts the amplified signal so badly that what’s coming out has no relation to what i’m strumming other than vague tonal qualities. For that minute i was i was mentally paging through my own songs, picturing open chords as tight barres further up on the neck and simple strums as thrashes.

At the end of the minute i decided that, for the most part, it just doesn’t work.

This month’s Rolling Stone was unusually chatty in tone, and it failed entirely to impress me. Four years ago i would’ve told you that my dream was to write for RS, and now i’m not even sure i would tell you that i want to be featured inside of it. My opinions on the magazine notwithstanding, one feature caught my eye; the article on Incubus.

I am decidedly indifferent to Incubus on the whole, though i am of the opinion that “Drive” is pretty much the distillation of what all of my songs possibly could sound like if i had a major label deal. At the end of the article there’s one of those colored boxes with incidental information in them, and in it there are two interesting pieces of information about lead singer Brandon Boyd. One is that “[b]efore a show [he] will scat jazz, growl punk rock, improvise a slow jam, or riff on Madonna.” The other is the following quote on Ani DiFranco: “She’s an underrated lyricist. Female artists are the perfect example of a creator: They know how to make life and art with their bodies. Life comes from their bodies, so on a very basic level, they have more to write about.”

There was something about the quote that left me in stunned silence, and that silence was mirrored by the long minute spent in limbo between my books of sheet music. Boyd, more than anything, comes off in the article as a rock star version of myself. He says things i say. He riffs on Madonna. He likes Ani DiFranco. His band wrote a song that’s indicative of my entire sound. And, i don’t really like his band; i’ve turned down invitations to their concerts and have serially neglected to buy any of their cds.


On days like today i get the sense that i don’t listen to and arrange loud music not because i don’t want to, but just because it hasn’t really occurred to me. Any other day i would tell you that my influences preclude the option entirely, but they really don’t: for every Madonna i have a David Bowie, and for every Ani DiFranco i have a PJ Harvey. Brandon Boyd is a sensitive singer-songwriter fan who enjoys an occasional pop tune. So am i.

I have no idea what i’m getting at, other than that even if converting my songwriting to be primarily electric occurred to me right at this instant, i think it might already be too late.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2002/04/75059224/