5.30.2002
This week is a Bay Area thing of beauty. Standing, squinting at the bus stop in the morning light, no jacket. Fish and chips and a pint of Harp in a sunny alley in the city. And in the 'burbs at sunset, In-N-Out Burger...
I'm off to SoCal for my brother's bachelor party this weekend. Should be fun. As a tiny bonus side-trip, and between my arrival at the cute little airport at Burbank and a run to the supermarket for breakfast supplies, I intend to squeeze in a visit to Din Tai Fung, home of the authentic taste of Taiwan. Oh, yes. Tonight I dream of shao lung bao...
I'm off to SoCal for my brother's bachelor party this weekend. Should be fun. As a tiny bonus side-trip, and between my arrival at the cute little airport at Burbank and a run to the supermarket for breakfast supplies, I intend to squeeze in a visit to Din Tai Fung, home of the authentic taste of Taiwan. Oh, yes. Tonight I dream of shao lung bao...
5.20.2002
from the mailbag
Dear Matt,
The other night my girlfriend, J.P., asked if I'd noticed any recent irregularity in the attributes of my stool. I hadn't, and not for lack of scrutiny. She went on to say that our recent outing for Indian food had resulted in unusually colorful excrement.
Like any creative person, I noted and was moved by the subtext of this incongruency; how two people can share an experience (the same input, so to speak) and yet externalize it in such a completely different manner.
So I sat down at my piano and improvised a Tori Amos-inflected ballad called "Orange Poo." When I finished, J.P. shouted from the other room to ask what I'd just written. The title caught her off guard; the whole time she had misheard the lyric as "Porridge Boo" and "Porridge Blue"!
Do you think that this discrepancy speaks more to the fragility of lyrical content; how, against our best intentions, something as pedestrian as wood panelling can disrupt, distort and possibly even reverse meaning? Or, is it more about art as autonomy; the idea that once art has been released from the prison of the artist's mind it is free to take any number of forms as dictated by the listener?
Keep on blogging,
DJ Koloztomy Bagg
Nacogdoches, TX
Dear DJ,
Let me borrow your little analogy and say this: the food leaves the kitchen in fine shape -- from then on it's a downward spiral toward oblivion. To digest art is to destroy it. Avoid playing your songs for others at all costs. And never admit to being a songwriter at a family gathering.
Here's a little more advice:
1. Everyone who reads InStyle already knows that Tori is a drama queen with indigestion. Get over it.
2. "Orange poo/Porridge blue" makes a fine couplet. Go with it. Every song is a gift.
3. Are you stalking me yet? Yeah, I thought so.
4. Your girlfriend's name isn't nearly so scatological as the rest of your email. C'mon, shouldn't her name be "Poopsie" or something?
Thanks so much for writing and may everybody find their song,
Matt
The other night my girlfriend, J.P., asked if I'd noticed any recent irregularity in the attributes of my stool. I hadn't, and not for lack of scrutiny. She went on to say that our recent outing for Indian food had resulted in unusually colorful excrement.
Like any creative person, I noted and was moved by the subtext of this incongruency; how two people can share an experience (the same input, so to speak) and yet externalize it in such a completely different manner.
So I sat down at my piano and improvised a Tori Amos-inflected ballad called "Orange Poo." When I finished, J.P. shouted from the other room to ask what I'd just written. The title caught her off guard; the whole time she had misheard the lyric as "Porridge Boo" and "Porridge Blue"!
Do you think that this discrepancy speaks more to the fragility of lyrical content; how, against our best intentions, something as pedestrian as wood panelling can disrupt, distort and possibly even reverse meaning? Or, is it more about art as autonomy; the idea that once art has been released from the prison of the artist's mind it is free to take any number of forms as dictated by the listener?
Keep on blogging,
DJ Koloztomy Bagg
Nacogdoches, TX
Dear DJ,
Let me borrow your little analogy and say this: the food leaves the kitchen in fine shape -- from then on it's a downward spiral toward oblivion. To digest art is to destroy it. Avoid playing your songs for others at all costs. And never admit to being a songwriter at a family gathering.
Here's a little more advice:
1. Everyone who reads InStyle already knows that Tori is a drama queen with indigestion. Get over it.
2. "Orange poo/Porridge blue" makes a fine couplet. Go with it. Every song is a gift.
3. Are you stalking me yet? Yeah, I thought so.
4. Your girlfriend's name isn't nearly so scatological as the rest of your email. C'mon, shouldn't her name be "Poopsie" or something?
Thanks so much for writing and may everybody find their song,
Matt
5.17.2002
Yessss! I got to see Attack of the Clones on opening day. It was awesome. I hope to see it at least a couple more times. I tried to diagram the political forces on a Post-It:
Like I said, I hope to see it a couple more times. ;)
Like I said, I hope to see it a couple more times. ;)
5.15.2002
This will be a music update...
Trash Can Sinatras Project: Completed, then shelved... but I'm told it will see the light of day yet! From what I've heard from Pop Renaissance Ray, I think a reasonable estimate is Fall 2002.
Love Ambition Demo: Almost out of print, so buy it if you want it.
Gigs: None on the calendar for the first time in a couple years. It's not retirement, it's called paternity leave, people... K and I are having a baby!
Future Biz: Deal pending with Know-It-All to do an EP and a full-length over the next year-ish.
Hmm. Music business. Music plus business -- is it a sum less than its parts? It makes me nervous, but not like it once did. It used to feel like a giant mess, a destination that was fearsome and dirty.
Now its seems like taking a shower: it's a ritual and you do it to make other things possible afterwards. It's auxilliary rather than being an end in itself and works better for me as a habit (or nuisance) than as a directing philosophy. I will try to understand those of you who like to bathe, and I do not begrudge you your pleasure; however, I insist that bathing is not a destination. Bathe to live -- don't live to bathe.
Ahem.
I did the acoustic thing weekend before last, one night solo and one night with Tyler. Both were very good experiences. Threw in a little Westerberg ('Skyway') on Friday night... such a great little song. And dusted off some TJT on Saturday ('Jetboy').
When I want to or think to or dare to play a little TJT, it feels bittersweet and victorious all at once... I get sad that our best work got the fewest ears and years and that we don't play 'em together, after all. But there's victory in just letting the songs out of the box to play themselves, to breathe without much context at all and to stand up by themselves. Just because they can, y'know? And because this is the future, and the future's OK.
Trash Can Sinatras Project: Completed, then shelved... but I'm told it will see the light of day yet! From what I've heard from Pop Renaissance Ray, I think a reasonable estimate is Fall 2002.
Love Ambition Demo: Almost out of print, so buy it if you want it.
Gigs: None on the calendar for the first time in a couple years. It's not retirement, it's called paternity leave, people... K and I are having a baby!
Future Biz: Deal pending with Know-It-All to do an EP and a full-length over the next year-ish.
Hmm. Music business. Music plus business -- is it a sum less than its parts? It makes me nervous, but not like it once did. It used to feel like a giant mess, a destination that was fearsome and dirty.
Now its seems like taking a shower: it's a ritual and you do it to make other things possible afterwards. It's auxilliary rather than being an end in itself and works better for me as a habit (or nuisance) than as a directing philosophy. I will try to understand those of you who like to bathe, and I do not begrudge you your pleasure; however, I insist that bathing is not a destination. Bathe to live -- don't live to bathe.
Ahem.
I did the acoustic thing weekend before last, one night solo and one night with Tyler. Both were very good experiences. Threw in a little Westerberg ('Skyway') on Friday night... such a great little song. And dusted off some TJT on Saturday ('Jetboy').
When I want to or think to or dare to play a little TJT, it feels bittersweet and victorious all at once... I get sad that our best work got the fewest ears and years and that we don't play 'em together, after all. But there's victory in just letting the songs out of the box to play themselves, to breathe without much context at all and to stand up by themselves. Just because they can, y'know? And because this is the future, and the future's OK.
5.06.2002
(Re)discovery: I actually prefer standing up when I perform, even when I'm playing acoustic guitar. I had begun to think differently, but now I'm back on track. Who knew?
