— westy (@westyreflector) May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 06:54PM
— westy (@westyreflector) May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 06:54PM
the war on drugs is a symptom of addiction to the war drug
— westy (@westyreflector) April 21, 2016
April 21, 2016 at 06:38PM
5th Av @ 9th, Dunkin iced, cig-dangle, russet frizzle, 40s, to phone: "Didn't you see my tweet that Shakespeare's so overrated? No? Well…"
— westy (@westyreflector) April 18, 2016 at 10:56AM
The word "literally" is a call to arms against analogy and fiction. Every time it's uttered an imagination dies.
— westy (@westyreflector) April 14, 2016
April 14, 2016 at 10:26AM
9:14. Bodega. Puffy-eyed mid-level leaning on dairy fridge. iPhone 4S: "You keep doin' that over and over and you'll be running the place!"
— westy (@westyreflector) April 7, 2016
April 07, 2016 at 09:42AM
16:48, brown Uggs, leaving a Park Slope salon, fresh blunt bangs, to friend: "Sharknado was just too cynical for me to let the kids watch."
— westy (@westyreflector) April 3, 2016
April 03, 2016 at 05:24PM
5th Ave Bingo exit, 10:12p.
“Geraldine, you have a Valium on you?”
“That’s ok, I got tranquilizers at home.”
March 26, 2016 at 10:35PM
genes endow not destiny, only chemistry
— westy (@westyreflector) March 24, 2016
March 24, 2016 at 04:59PM
one-letter keyword entry through a Sinclair ZX81 membrane was decent conditioning for this autocomplete world
— westy (@westyreflector) March 3, 2016
March 03, 2016 at 11:20AM
9th St, Woz look, ivy cap, green wide corduroys, into 6S: "Kelly knows the stakes… but that telephone's ancient… yeah, BlackBerry 10."
— westy (@westyreflector) February 23, 2016
February 23, 2016 at 06:53PM
Every statistic aspires to silence an exception.
— westy (@westyreflector) February 22, 2016
from Twitter https://twitter.com/westyreflector
February 22, 2016 at 09:40AM
i tell kids not to emulate me because i have no idea what emulator i'm running
— westy (@westyreflector) February 19, 2016
Frowzy 40ish man, outside C-Town Market, under a 'Tilapia Blowout!' sign, into phone:
"The answer is, in a vacuum, yes."#SidewalkSnippet
— westy (@westyreflector) February 2, 2016
$illusion = $choice->load("party");
document.getElementById("illusion").value = iceCream;
— westy (@westyreflector) February 1, 2016
"What am I supposed to do, walk around in airplane mode for a week?" | SidewalkSnippet020116a
— westy (@westyreflector) February 1, 2016
9th St @ 4th Ave. Woman into phone, other hand gestures into space: "…the one thing I know is -" [salt truck roars by] "- so stop caring!"
— westy (@westyreflector) January 25, 2016
Truth over time becomes elusive – and relative – so lawyers ply their trade in the fuzziness of memory. Justice relies on absolute truth, and pursuit of it is mere human invention – absurd and Sisyphean as any other attempt to stanch the entropy of the universe.
Yesterday, after four hours of being probed, prodded, picked apart and piecemealed by opposing counsels, I walked out of my attorney’s office thinking of Kurt Vonnegut’s observation that “only humankind is running out of time.”
I could not record today.
My studio is not soundproof
enough for a city daytime.
Contractors hired by an aspirational
Brooklyn property developer
stamp rumblefooted underpinnings
for a cantilevered condo to be
four times the size of the
sixty year old
two family the developer
demolished a month ago.
The mufflebooms travel
into my rear office studio,
up through my mic stand,
from the sub strata.
On the front side of my apartment,
the back of a post office, across the street.
The carriers often shout at each other
in the loading dock
on and off their trucks.
One of them, a man with birdtones,
sings arias from Norma.
As a mechanical gate opens and
closes to let the trucks
in and out, his tenor lends
the gate a mournful movement.
Night will bring challenge, too.
The Bingo Hall on 5th Avenue allows patrons
access to its rear alley abutting
the northern border of my apartment complex.
The alleyway is a de facto back lounge
where winner inksters come out to smoke
and make on-a-lucky-streak joyouts.
The players on losing tails fall off
towards the streetside
exit of the alleyway
and smoke in silence,
as passing headlights echo through
the flickering alleyway’s security gate.
Tomorrow I’m going to mail holiday packages
too long sitting on my dining room table.
I look at the gifts meant to be given,
gifts that people have
no idea they are going to receive.
Procrastination self-inflicts purgatories
between loneliness and connection,
but today I will exorcise this unquiet
into a happy suspension,
as when your partner isn’t talking, and you hear
the soft rustle of a newspaper
and a sweater against a sofa…
things that mean everything,
that you don’t notice,
until you are standing still
or cannot record.
I started creating tracks for the Disquiet.com Junto in January 2012 upon the group’s founding by Marc Weidenbaum, a San Francisco music, technology and culture writer. A former editor of Tower Records’ Pulse! magazine, he has written for Nature, Boing Boing, and The Atlantic online, and he also lectures on the role of sound in the media landscape. Marc is most recently the author of the 33 1/3 book on Aphex Twin’s album Selected Ambient Works Volume II and since 1996, he runs the website Disquiet.com about the intersection of sound, art, and technology.
The Disquiet Junto is an online music community in which members respond to weekly composition prompts posted every Thursday devised and designed by Marc. Participants have just over four days to complete each project. As of this writing, ~460 musicians and sound artists from all over the world have joined in, creating over 3300 tracks that have been uploaded and shared via soundcloud.com. The playlist above has my contributions, and updates in real time with the most recent (an playlist unstuck from time in a post about Disquiet seemed appropriate).
Participation in the Junto for members is not compulsory, and artists jump in and out at will. The Junto makes it ok to take tremendous risks with creativity, though, so many of us keep coming back for more. As of this post, I’ve done ~50 of the 135 challenges, and a few of the resulting tracks ended up on my last two records, which are released under Creative Commons currently at Bandcamp and the Free Music Archive.
I followed Marc’s writing and blog for years. As a rock and pop songwriter, I was an outlier for the Junto, but always aspire to abstraction and harbor fascination with electronic music and sound manipulation. So after his initial call, I listened from the sidelines for few challenges, then conjured the courage to create a track.
Avant-garde and abstract expression are often low-hanging fruit for ridicule, tossed off as the butt of jokes while dismissed as misplaced fealty to impracticality. Explaining the Junto is not always easy. A couple people – people who should know better – have said “it sounds like a cult,” after I entreated them to check it out.
I told the last one, “Never mistake something cult for a cult. Anyway, what happened? You used to be so cool.”
The Junto reminds me that in writing music and “songs,” I also create sound(s). These sounds have texture and personality and interact in mathematical and metaphysical ways. I am way more aware of my compositional process now, and every week I mine Junto tracks for technique and marvel at the output. Even when not able or capable to participate in a given challenge, the assignments themselves are enough to spark lanterns otherwise unlit. I’ve also found friends. It’s made the internet not such a cold, commercial place.
Just when you think you couldn’t grow…
A fuller transcript because radio interview…
Kurt Anderson: “Are you comfortable playing the blues?”
Playing the blues intimidates me. Almost more than any other musical expression. You can’t fake it, and unless you’ve lived it, you can’t be true – merely authentic. And I’d rather eat, say, “true” Soul food than “authentic” Soul food, any day. The blues, along with most African American art forms, is an expression of a secret history, one that I may only learn about and process from afar.
That said, I’ve been down, way down. I’ve been to dark dark places inside myself, too. But have I ever had the true blues? History and culture have not oppressed (or suppressed) me in my lifetime (though my Jewish ancestors, even into the mid 20th century, were not so lucky). Depression, though debilitating and oppressive in its own way, does not “the blues” make. This challenge hit me right in a discomfort zone, which on some level, made it a perfect challenge to wrestle. I tried to approach with fearlessness, to conjure the courage of someone suffering the blues, hopefully, then, speaking to, recalling and giving safe harbor to the suffering. No judgments here.
Kurt Anderson: “Tell us about your process and approach to this recording.”
In W.C. Handy’s narrative, no one is in a fixed place, whether physical (Easy Rider) or mental (Susan Johnson). That’s the darkness of “the blues,” that you are robbed of a place in space and time – robbed of roots. As I wrote on SoundCloud in my track description, this story attempts to reconcile the desire to stay put with the yearning to run and never look back. The talk of technology and communication in the song (cablegrams, telegrams, letters, trains…) sent me thinking about the wait-times between communications, and then the spaces, static and snow between radio stations and tv stations. And then, broader, thinking about the spaces between songs around the same narrative. After all, W.C. Handy was continuing a story started in another song, jumping into it at a different time and place. What happened to Susan and her Easy Rider between those songs is part of the mystery. What happened to them was the blues.
Louis Armstrong’s recording helped get my timing right for the vocal part and understand the idiosyncrasies of the original’s 2/4 rhythm (I went 4/4, but did honor the underlying 12-bar structure). Then, Eartha Kitt’s take with Nat King Cole on piano opened a window into how to rearrange and rewrite some of the lyrics to suit my own style. In the end, I just tried to be “true” to myself rather than “authentic” to any canonical version. So mine is cool where the original is hot. I changed the chorus up, too, because when I’m blue, I’m more bVII-IV-I than V-IV-I.
I started by layering frozen guitar drones based on the melody lines and chords over some old royalty-free snippets of radio and static from a sound effects disc from the 80s. Then took a stab at the actual song, albeit with a new arrangement. I had intended to helix the drone and the straight track together in a more holistic way, but in the end, time got the better of me. So I cleaved the drone piece in two and bled each part into the straightforward track. In the context of my concept, Easy Rider drones along on a quiet train until hitting a town, where he’s seen and Susan is sent a message (Easy Rider’s unaware of that). Then, after some raucous celebration, Easy’s off again, real life receding into the background; time and communication technology just moving forward, though radio brodacasts, tape recordings, television surfing… oscillating into space with all the other particle waves…