Business is brisk as Dale's House of Seed.
- Made final revisions on about one-quarter of the chapters of The Man Who Signed the City.
- Started reading and reporting for profile of Baltimore-washington area chef and restauranteur.
- Completed reading on book design.
- Created new cover prototype.
The weeks’ reading
- Thinking with Type by Ellen Lupton
- Dreyer’s English by Benjamin Dreyer
- From Oz to Kansas by Vincent Versace
- Alexandria by Nick Bantock
- The Morning Star by Nick Bantock
- The Pharos Gate by Nick Bantock
- Tolstoy, Rasputin, Others, and Me by Teffi
- The Years of Rice and Salt by Kim Stanley Robinson
- “Flaubert Again” by Anne Carson, The New Yorker
- “The Prophets of Cryptocurrency Survey the Boom and Bust” by Nick Paumgarten, The New Yorker
- “The Vicksburg Ghost” by Sue Hubbell, Grand Street
- “Six Glimpses of the Past” by Janet Malcolm, The New Yorker
- “The Myth of Whiteness in Classical Sculpture” by Margaret Talbot, The New Yorker
The Sunday work-in-progress post will be on a Monday this week; I've been busy this weekend and it's cocktail hour and I have a shaker to man. In its place, I offer baby geese. Seems like a decent trade. I know, a cheap ply, but c'mon…goslings!
I am not at all comfortable with how right this is. Brian Eno, from about five years ago:
Most of the smart people I know want nothing to do with politics. We avoid it like the plague… Is this because we feel that politics isn’t where anything significant happens? Or because we’re too taken up with what we’re doing, be it Quantum Physics or Statistical Ge-nomics or Generative Music? Or because we’re too polite to get into arguments with people? Or because we just think that things will work out fine if we let them be—that The Invisible Hand or The Technosphere will mysteriously sort them out?
Whatever the reasons for our quiescence, politics is still being done—just not by us. It’s politics that gave us Iraq and Afghanistan and a few hundred thousand casualties. It’s politics that’s bleeding the poorer nations for the debts of their former dictators. It’s politics that allows special interests to run the country. It’s politics that helped the banks wreck the economy. It’s politics that prohibits gay marriage and stem cell research but nurtures Gaza and Guantanamo.
But we don’t do politics. We expect other people to do it for us, and grumble when they get it wrong. We feel that our responsibility stops at the ballot box, if we even get that far. After that we’re as laissez-faire as we can get away with.
What worries me is that while we’re laissez-ing, someone else is faire-ing.
Celebrating 175 straight days of blogging with another glance at The Man Who Signed the City: an excerpt of the chapter on Drew Daniel, English professor, half of the electronic band Matmos, veteran of world tours with Bjork. (And yes, that's a new cover mockup, ovr there on the right.)
Of the 1,000 copies of Quasi-Objects, they consigned five to a record shop in London called Rough Trade. Rough Trade’s customers included, on at least one occasion, Bjork, and she bought Quasi-Objects. She liked it so much she gave Daniel and Schmidt a call from Iceland. Would they like to remix a song of hers titled “Alarm Call”? “At first we thought it was a prank or something, one of our friends winding us up,” Daniel remembers. “It was a shock. Then, when she started thinking about making her album Vespertine, she approached us to make some rhythms for one song. Then we made a few more, and it started to snowball.” She came to San Francisco to work on the album with them at their house. The first day, Daniel’s computer crashed and he had to call a friend to fix it. “That was pretty embarrassing, but she proved patient with the way we operate.”
Then came the real stunner. “I was working at the Huntington Library in Los Angeles on my dissertation, in the archives looking for visual representations of melancholy, and I got a phone call from Bjork.” She was standing on a cliff in Iceland where, Daniel says, she goes to make big decisions, and she was inviting Matmos to join the backing musicians for her upcoming tour. The tour would be huge, traversing Europe, the United States, and Japan, and it would take a commitment of up to two years. Daniel was in the middle of his dissertation, and had to approach his adviser, Richard Halpern (now one of his colleagues in the Johns Hopkins English Department), and announce that he would be taking a few years off to go on the road. Halpern agreed to let him take a break. “He didn’t have to do that,” Daniel says. “Most people would have been, like, ‘Later, loser,’ but Richard knew I was serious.”
Daniel and Schmidt had to learn Bjork’s full tour repertory and figure out how to perform everything live. One song, “Aurora,” included the sound of Bjork walking through snow. “We couldn’t do snow on stage, though we looked into it,” Daniel recalls. “Martin had this idea to walk on rock salt on a contact-mic platform. So the rhythm of the song was Martin walking. It’s actually a challenge to walk at the right pace for a whole band.” They spent six months in rehearsal and preparation. Says Daniel, “I was scared at the idea that we were really going to do this. But Bjork said, ‘Don’t worry, we’ve got a lot of people to work with you and make this bullet proof.”
The touring ensemble included a 13-piece orchestra, a choir, a harpist, and Matmos. The first performance was in Paris. “We couldn’t believe what the audience for a pop star sounds like on stage,” Daniel says. “You know, we get good applause when we finish a show, but as soon as she walked onstage, the roar of the French fans was really frightening.” His parents were backstage. So was Catherine Deneuve. “We actually met her at the Dancer in the Dark premiere”—Deneuve and Bjork both had roles in the Lars von Trier film—“and Martin tried to bum a cigarette from her. You’ve never received an icy glare until you’ve tried to bum a cigarette from Catherine Deneuve.”
There's no shortage of Canada geese around here, but that doesn't stop them from having families. I live near a quarry lake and these little guys began appearing a couple of weeks ago.
My favorite image for language itself is a great forest: it’s a living thing, and it’s bigger than we are, and we’re born into the middle of it and we gradually get to know more and more about it as we grow ourselves. It provides us with shelter and food and pleasure. (The forest is the phase space of all we can possibly say.) But parts of it are being burned down, and other parts are struggling to find light and nourishment, and the terrible thing is now we’re conscious, the nature of the forest itself has changed. … We can’t pretend to be innocent in the face of language, any more than in the face of knowledge of any sort: we are conscious, and so we are responsible. Whether we like it or not, the forest of language is not wild virgin forest any more; it’s being managed, and some of it is being managed badly. And we’re responsible, we the story people, the poetry people, the book people. In our parts of the forest, we are in charge.
Philip Pullman, Dæmon Voices
Haven't posted one of these in a while. My second big project, after I complete The Man Who Signed the City, most likely will be a photobook from the nine-month documentary project I did on collegiate athletes at practice. Working title for that one is When You Have Nothing Left to Burn (subtitle Set Yourself on Fire — all will be explained in due time).
I like this shot of an intense field hockey player getting off a shot on goal. Later a shot went wide of the net, skipped off the wet turf, and struck me in the shin. Field hockey uses the hardest ball in all of sports and I had the hematoma to prove it. Six years later, the skin is still discolored.