I think it was Flaubert who suggested that writers should live unexceptional and orderly lives so as to be able to focus their creative energies on their work. I’m not 100% on this reference; it only came to my attention because Martin Amis wrote something in which he said that JG Ballard agreed with the idea. Flaubert’s a Senegalese footballer, right? So what would he know about it?
My own life, the life of an indolent wannabe-writer without so much as a single completed piece of fiction to his name, suffers from being both uneventful and chaotic: I do nothing of interest and I do it erratically. By way of example, last week my primary achievements were 1) partially varnishing the kitchen floor of my parents’ house, 2) attending a dental check-up, 3) watching the final episode of Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle on BBC iPlayer. And those really are the highlights; I can’t remember anything else. The times at which I got out of bed ran from eight am to three pm.
So I’m not exactly cultivating interesting life experiences, nor am I using the time to perfect my craft—I think that would involve actually completing something (although I could always pioneer a genre consisting entirely of opening paragraphs from implied stories ). In fact, much of my writing time is dedicated to the creation of nonsense, navel-gazing pieces like this. I have no useful conclusion to draw. Fin.
Monday, 27 April 2009
Saturday, 18 April 2009
Robin Hood and His Adventures in the Great War
I just caught an episode of the BBC's Robin Hood for the first time. One thing confuses me. The creators have gone for a self-consciously anachronistic style: everyone speaks Modern English, everything's surprisingly clean, Robin has a black buddy (who is apparently able to judge whether people are lying by monitoring their pulse rate), the Sheriff of Nottingham is Keith Allen etc etc etc. Obviously, it would be churlish to complain about these things; my problem is this: why didn't they go further?
Like, why not have Robin keep fans up-to-date with his exploits by Twittering them? The episodes are recorded prior to broadcast (erm, naturally), but there's no reason they couldn't film him writing his updates (on his Blackberry--actually an excellent tool for a medieval guerrilla, in my estimation) and have an intern post them at the appropriate time. They could even introduce an interactive element, by filming alternate endings and having Robin ask the audience how he should proceed.
Then again, why limit the anachronisms to present-day phenomena? Robin could have a computerised bow; that would explain his supernatural archery skills, making the show, if anything, more realistic. Plus, it could make sassy remarks in a dry, digitised monotone; like KITT from Knight Rider, only a tool of murder. Or perhaps he could be a time traveller from World War One, fighting Middle Ages injustice with the aid of a service revolver and a canister of mustard gas. Each episode could end with him reading a poem about the horrors of (class?) war.
I'm all for post-modern mash-ups, but the BBC's half-hearted efforts in this field leave me cold. The irreverent treatment of historical accuracy in both Robin Hood and Merlin could be interesting and meaningful (don't ask me how, I'm not a 'creative'), but instead it's just a novelty with which to dress up a couple of mediocre adventure-soaps. Thoroughly hack-tastic.
Like, why not have Robin keep fans up-to-date with his exploits by Twittering them? The episodes are recorded prior to broadcast (erm, naturally), but there's no reason they couldn't film him writing his updates (on his Blackberry--actually an excellent tool for a medieval guerrilla, in my estimation) and have an intern post them at the appropriate time. They could even introduce an interactive element, by filming alternate endings and having Robin ask the audience how he should proceed.
Then again, why limit the anachronisms to present-day phenomena? Robin could have a computerised bow; that would explain his supernatural archery skills, making the show, if anything, more realistic. Plus, it could make sassy remarks in a dry, digitised monotone; like KITT from Knight Rider, only a tool of murder. Or perhaps he could be a time traveller from World War One, fighting Middle Ages injustice with the aid of a service revolver and a canister of mustard gas. Each episode could end with him reading a poem about the horrors of (class?) war.
I'm all for post-modern mash-ups, but the BBC's half-hearted efforts in this field leave me cold. The irreverent treatment of historical accuracy in both Robin Hood and Merlin could be interesting and meaningful (don't ask me how, I'm not a 'creative'), but instead it's just a novelty with which to dress up a couple of mediocre adventure-soaps. Thoroughly hack-tastic.
Tuesday, 7 April 2009
Badass 2 badass
Supreme Badass K1LL_BL4ZE_63 appeared briefly on the public board @ www.shittank.net @ 13:00 PST yesterday 2 honour PoonTangoMan69, the only living person 2 have participated in WWWar 1.0. In a touching exchange, His Righteousness the Badass expressed His “incredible r/spec” 4 the veteran gmr., who managed 2 bag over 10k kills (including 2,043 headshots) over 3 days of fighting back in 7 BR (Year of Blade Runner).
PoonTangoMan69 thanked him politely, and asked whether it was true that the forthcoming Modern Warfare 38: Total Innovation will feature AP bullets that allow the player 2 shoot out of the game-world and in2 neighbouring websites. The Badass said “no comment but itd be fuckin awseome!” and deployed the Imperial Smiley.
PoonTangoMan69 has been the only survivor of WWWar 1.0 since the death last month of !King$chlong!, who passed away due 2 complications arising from chronic acne.
PoonTangoMan69 thanked him politely, and asked whether it was true that the forthcoming Modern Warfare 38: Total Innovation will feature AP bullets that allow the player 2 shoot out of the game-world and in2 neighbouring websites. The Badass said “no comment but itd be fuckin awseome!” and deployed the Imperial Smiley.
PoonTangoMan69 has been the only survivor of WWWar 1.0 since the death last month of !King$chlong!, who passed away due 2 complications arising from chronic acne.
Oh We Know Not What We Do, Do We?
Religious groups may have plenty of irrational, reactionary ideas about games, but does that mean they’re always wrong?
Okay, a little word-association to begin with: “videogames” and “religion.” Seriously, go ahead and open up Notepad or Pages or whatever—use an actual piece of paper if you can find one. You have five seconds…
So, what did you get? If the cultural sphere you inhabit is anything like the one I’m familiar with, you’ll have written “controversy,” “outrage,” “censorship” and, just maybe, “public burnings.” (Also acceptable: “degeneracy,” “moral decline” and “evil.”) When the worlds of religion and gaming collide, the result tends to be a brouhaha of some description; witness the outcry over violence and satanic imagery in Doom, the outcry over depictions of holy sites in Hitman 2 and Resistance: Fall of Man, and the (ongoing) outcry over more or less everything in the GTA series. Faith groups just don’t like games, right? But why can’t they leave those of us who do to enjoy our damnation in peace?
Of course, the media flurry surrounding these and similar incidents obscures the fact that plenty of religious people are keen gamers themselves, and not necessarily averse to a spot of simulated violence. Moreover, it seems (if the various articles and forum posts I’ve come across in the course of writing this piece are representative) to have engendered a siege mentality in some parts of the gaming community. Consider this excerpt from "Why God and Games Don’t Mix" by Stuart Clarke:
And, from "Religion and Video Games: A Balanced Perspective" by Alfredo, this response to accusations that the prostitute-killing aspect of GTA IV is inappropriate:
These articles, and many like them, are predicated on the idea that religion is a stern, dogmatic force; a monolithic authority that seeks to eradicate everything that deviates from its schema. That’s certainly not an unprecedented definition, but neither is it exhaustive; religion can also be a great source of empowerment and artistic inspiration—think of Milton, Bach and Dostoevsky. More importantly, many of those who rally against the censorious interventions of pressure groups fail to acknowledge the fact that some of these self-righteous fundamentalists might have, you know…a point.
Just why is it so important to be able to patronise and kill prostitutes in GTA? Alfredo seems to be saying that it’s a matter of establishing a detailed, flexible environment in which the player is free to behave in whatever manner he wants; if that’s the case, why can’t I go into a store and buy a ukulele, or take night classes in conversational Spanish…aren’t those activities equally valid examples of “real-world behaviour?” Or is game-world freedom only worthwhile as long as it provides the opportunity to do things that are usually verboten?
Before I go on, I’d like to pre-empt any accusations of sanctimoniousness by emphasising that I’m a keen gamer myself, and I’ve played my share of violent titles over the years. I gibbed the grey-brown walking cadavers of Quake, I threw the drunken guard down the well in Thief, and I tried out the head-in-a-vice fatality in Condemned 2 at the first opportunity. I’ve also played GTA IV, of course, and I may have killed the occasional prostitute; it’s just so hard to keep track. Therein lies the problem.
Contrary to the impression generated by mainstream media, not all games are violent; but those that are violent are relentlessly so, to the point that it all gets a bit…well, monotonous. That’s what people mean when they talk about recent generations being desensitised: it’s not that long-term exposure transforms ordinary folk into raving psychotics (although studies suggest that, far from being cathartic, violent games actually do increase aggression levels), but that it trains them to take violence for granted—to be unmoved by it. Hence the escalating brutality in games: to keep the player interested, the designer must provide him with new spectacles of depravity and gore. In the words of the journalist Bill Moyers:
It’s not just physical violence that this applies to. The aforementioned prostitutes of GTA are a perfect example of game content that serves no nobler purpose than to titillate, and perhaps also to provoke the sort of alarmist media response that generates a lot of free publicity (mission accomplished). Would anyone miss them if they’d never been introduced? Would fans of the series be lobbying Rockstar Games right now, fighting for the right to watch a computer-generated hooker bouncing on the lap of a computer-generated hood in an ill-lit, computer-generated alley?
Condemned 2 is another prime offender; besides the abundant viscera, characters who go around uttering lines like “I’m ready to give this shithole an enema” can only be intended to make the game seem “gritty,” an industry term that roughly translates as “appealing to 15-year-old sociopaths.”
So, is it right that people stand up against the immorality of modern games? Is the anti-game-activist Jack Thompson providing an important public service? The problem with this idea is that the hard-liners who routinely challenge the depiction of violence in games do so not because it’s often gratuitous, but rather because they don’t think it should be there at all. Thompson, a devout Christian, is perhaps best known for his attacks on GTA, but he was equally dismissive of the Christian-themed Left Behind: Eternal Forces, in which the player kills un-cooperative heathens. For him and his ilk, game violence can never be challenging or instructive.
This is a view that serious gamers resist, and rightly so; filmmakers, playwrights and novelists have weathered equivalent attacks in the past. However, the resulting culture of bipartisan rhetoric discourages deeper examination of the issue, and this only serves to reinforce dogmatism on both sides. What the gaming community really needs is a greater level of self-awareness. Rather than responding to every challenge by pulling out Freedom Of Expression and waving it around with the safety off, or else leaving the marketplace to make moral decisions in our stead (on the assumption that a profitable game is a “good” one), we ought to be more critical of our own attitudes. It’s disingenuous to invoke a spirit of absolute laissez faire because we all know that there are certain lines we don’t want crossed (paedophilia simulator, anyone?); it’s also disingenuous to pretend that games are non-ideological, and that religious influences necessarily subordinate medium to message.
As players, we should be the first to challenge the culture of violence and depravity that exerts such an influence on the “mature” (can you remember a time when that wasn’t a euphemism?) end of the games market; not just because we want to be social crusaders, but because it might actually induce publishers and developers to challenge us back. Think of it: more games that aren’t just half-hearted attempts to spruce up the same old walk-and-shoot mechanism with a new colour scheme and a fresh set of cannon fodder; more games that make us actually stop and think before we pull the trigger or wrap fibre wire around the neck of an innocent NPC; more games that attempt to find ways to entertain and engage without recourse to deadly weapons at all.
When Thomas Jefferson said that “the price of democracy is eternal vigilance” he may not have had Manhunt in mind, but that doesn’t mean the sentiment isn’t still applicable. And if that seems like a grandiose note on which to sign off, I urge you to reconsider the importance of the issue.
Okay, a little word-association to begin with: “videogames” and “religion.” Seriously, go ahead and open up Notepad or Pages or whatever—use an actual piece of paper if you can find one. You have five seconds…
So, what did you get? If the cultural sphere you inhabit is anything like the one I’m familiar with, you’ll have written “controversy,” “outrage,” “censorship” and, just maybe, “public burnings.” (Also acceptable: “degeneracy,” “moral decline” and “evil.”) When the worlds of religion and gaming collide, the result tends to be a brouhaha of some description; witness the outcry over violence and satanic imagery in Doom, the outcry over depictions of holy sites in Hitman 2 and Resistance: Fall of Man, and the (ongoing) outcry over more or less everything in the GTA series. Faith groups just don’t like games, right? But why can’t they leave those of us who do to enjoy our damnation in peace?
Of course, the media flurry surrounding these and similar incidents obscures the fact that plenty of religious people are keen gamers themselves, and not necessarily averse to a spot of simulated violence. Moreover, it seems (if the various articles and forum posts I’ve come across in the course of writing this piece are representative) to have engendered a siege mentality in some parts of the gaming community. Consider this excerpt from "Why God and Games Don’t Mix" by Stuart Clarke:
…it’s unlikely that religion will ever play a major role in interactive entertainment – it is perhaps the first art form where god just doesn’t fit.
And, from "Religion and Video Games: A Balanced Perspective" by Alfredo, this response to accusations that the prostitute-killing aspect of GTA IV is inappropriate:
[GTA IV] does not even encourage you to kill prostitutes, it is merely an option because the game simulates real world behavior.
These articles, and many like them, are predicated on the idea that religion is a stern, dogmatic force; a monolithic authority that seeks to eradicate everything that deviates from its schema. That’s certainly not an unprecedented definition, but neither is it exhaustive; religion can also be a great source of empowerment and artistic inspiration—think of Milton, Bach and Dostoevsky. More importantly, many of those who rally against the censorious interventions of pressure groups fail to acknowledge the fact that some of these self-righteous fundamentalists might have, you know…a point.
Just why is it so important to be able to patronise and kill prostitutes in GTA? Alfredo seems to be saying that it’s a matter of establishing a detailed, flexible environment in which the player is free to behave in whatever manner he wants; if that’s the case, why can’t I go into a store and buy a ukulele, or take night classes in conversational Spanish…aren’t those activities equally valid examples of “real-world behaviour?” Or is game-world freedom only worthwhile as long as it provides the opportunity to do things that are usually verboten?
Before I go on, I’d like to pre-empt any accusations of sanctimoniousness by emphasising that I’m a keen gamer myself, and I’ve played my share of violent titles over the years. I gibbed the grey-brown walking cadavers of Quake, I threw the drunken guard down the well in Thief, and I tried out the head-in-a-vice fatality in Condemned 2 at the first opportunity. I’ve also played GTA IV, of course, and I may have killed the occasional prostitute; it’s just so hard to keep track. Therein lies the problem.
Contrary to the impression generated by mainstream media, not all games are violent; but those that are violent are relentlessly so, to the point that it all gets a bit…well, monotonous. That’s what people mean when they talk about recent generations being desensitised: it’s not that long-term exposure transforms ordinary folk into raving psychotics (although studies suggest that, far from being cathartic, violent games actually do increase aggression levels), but that it trains them to take violence for granted—to be unmoved by it. Hence the escalating brutality in games: to keep the player interested, the designer must provide him with new spectacles of depravity and gore. In the words of the journalist Bill Moyers:
Once you decide to titillate instead of illuminate . . . you create a climate of expectation that requires a higher and higher level of intensity.
It’s not just physical violence that this applies to. The aforementioned prostitutes of GTA are a perfect example of game content that serves no nobler purpose than to titillate, and perhaps also to provoke the sort of alarmist media response that generates a lot of free publicity (mission accomplished). Would anyone miss them if they’d never been introduced? Would fans of the series be lobbying Rockstar Games right now, fighting for the right to watch a computer-generated hooker bouncing on the lap of a computer-generated hood in an ill-lit, computer-generated alley?
Condemned 2 is another prime offender; besides the abundant viscera, characters who go around uttering lines like “I’m ready to give this shithole an enema” can only be intended to make the game seem “gritty,” an industry term that roughly translates as “appealing to 15-year-old sociopaths.”
So, is it right that people stand up against the immorality of modern games? Is the anti-game-activist Jack Thompson providing an important public service? The problem with this idea is that the hard-liners who routinely challenge the depiction of violence in games do so not because it’s often gratuitous, but rather because they don’t think it should be there at all. Thompson, a devout Christian, is perhaps best known for his attacks on GTA, but he was equally dismissive of the Christian-themed Left Behind: Eternal Forces, in which the player kills un-cooperative heathens. For him and his ilk, game violence can never be challenging or instructive.
This is a view that serious gamers resist, and rightly so; filmmakers, playwrights and novelists have weathered equivalent attacks in the past. However, the resulting culture of bipartisan rhetoric discourages deeper examination of the issue, and this only serves to reinforce dogmatism on both sides. What the gaming community really needs is a greater level of self-awareness. Rather than responding to every challenge by pulling out Freedom Of Expression and waving it around with the safety off, or else leaving the marketplace to make moral decisions in our stead (on the assumption that a profitable game is a “good” one), we ought to be more critical of our own attitudes. It’s disingenuous to invoke a spirit of absolute laissez faire because we all know that there are certain lines we don’t want crossed (paedophilia simulator, anyone?); it’s also disingenuous to pretend that games are non-ideological, and that religious influences necessarily subordinate medium to message.
As players, we should be the first to challenge the culture of violence and depravity that exerts such an influence on the “mature” (can you remember a time when that wasn’t a euphemism?) end of the games market; not just because we want to be social crusaders, but because it might actually induce publishers and developers to challenge us back. Think of it: more games that aren’t just half-hearted attempts to spruce up the same old walk-and-shoot mechanism with a new colour scheme and a fresh set of cannon fodder; more games that make us actually stop and think before we pull the trigger or wrap fibre wire around the neck of an innocent NPC; more games that attempt to find ways to entertain and engage without recourse to deadly weapons at all.
When Thomas Jefferson said that “the price of democracy is eternal vigilance” he may not have had Manhunt in mind, but that doesn’t mean the sentiment isn’t still applicable. And if that seems like a grandiose note on which to sign off, I urge you to reconsider the importance of the issue.
Friday, 3 April 2009
I attempt to write the worst review ever
Dirty Projectors w/ Polar Bear and Lucky Dragons
The Mint Lounge, Manchester
01/04/09
Pre-gig Tribulations:
1) Anxiety caused by suspicion that event is an elaborate April Fools.
2) Anxiety caused by jibe delivered by rejected drug dealer encountered during queuing process: "you're all boring."
3) Anxiety caused by prospect of having to leave halfway through Dirty Projectors' set to catch last train home.
Conclusion:
It's never been harder (for me) to have a good time.
Hard, but not impossible. Once I’d confirmed to my own satisfaction that the gig was indeed real, courtesy of a quick inspection of the venue (which exposed the presence of at least one Dirty Projector), and established a contingency plan for the late-running scenario, it was only the accusation of boringness that remained. Still, it troubled me more deeply than its compatriots.
I began to inspect my fellow attendees, trying to gauge how boring they were, in the hope that this would give me some insight into my own condition; my findings were mixed, but there did appear to be a surprisingly high level of boringness in the room, far higher than seemed appropriate for such a hot gig. Unless, I realised with horror, the hotness of the gig was a delusion of my own boring mind—was it possible that I had been tricked by the malign spirits of consumer culture into thinking that my tastes were relevant and lively when they were really no more than the carefully engineered impulses of a brain in a jar? Was I no better than a U2 fan? This prospect chilled me to the core, but I soon rallied when I realised that a boring person, a truly boring person, would no sooner recognise his own boringness than would a tree or stone (i.e. being boring involves a whole different paradigm of consciousness, in which self-awareness has no place).
Nor would this hypothetical boring person be disappointed with the output of the night’s first support act, Lucky Dragons, as I was. Well, that’s not necessarily so; such a person would probably have a near limitless capacity for being bored by things: the great works of cinema, literature and the visual arts; the physical act of love—each would bore him in equal measure (while, conversely, a showing of Talladega Nights would send him into hysterics). But, like the proverbial stopped clock, once in a while his response would be appropriate, and Lucky Dragons are a case in point. I maintain, however, that the boredom I experienced during the performance (which consisted of primitivist, droney-loopy noises, reminiscent of things I’d been bored by two or three years before) was in fact the natural response of a lively and agile mind.
Polar Bear were another matter. Jazzy and rocky without being a jazz-rock band in the traditional sense (in that they were oriented towards the jazz side, which is infinitely more appealing), they seemed agreeable enough; had I not been sitting down to rest (and to discuss the best means by which one may establish a career in The Media) I imagine that I would have enjoyed them quite a lot. As it was, I let their performance pass by without notice, as though it were an attractive woman I’d spotted across the room but had decided not to bother introducing myself to because that almost always just leads to a brief, awkward and self-esteem-sapping conversation, after which you never see her again.
Happily, my second-set nap left me sufficiently energised to make my way to the front for the headliners, which paid off to the tune of spades. Newly embiggened by the additions of bassist Nat Baldwin and backing vocalist Haley Dekle (who is in dire need of having-a-cool-name lessons from her colleagues Amber Coffman and Angel Deradoorian), the Dirty Projectors are now 50% more raucous (although 75% of that increase is down to the Tourette’s-like performance of “musical director” Dave Longstreth).
Like Deerhoof, DPs operate in a realm of octopodial tightness, where each member (or limb) of the band appears to have absolute mastery of his or her movements, but isn’t necessarily interested in coordinating them with those of everyone else (this goes double for Longstreth). The upshot is that their gigs descend into mere anarchy once in a while (I guess even octopods can’t be on top of things 24/7), but when everything comes together it feels like a miraculous event. Happily, such events occur with relative frequency, and the band’s enthusiasm makes even the most ramshackle passages seem compelling.
The set mainly consisted of material from the forthcoming Bitte Orca LP, which sounds like it’s going to expand on the ex-anarcho-punk-goes-Afro-pop stylings of Rise Above. Only three older tracks made it in: “Fucked for Life” from the New Attitude EP; “”Depression” from Rise Above; and “Knotty Pine,” the David Byrne collaboration written for the latest Dark Was the Night charity compilation. These were received with greater and greater shows of appreciation from the audience, who whooped and howled like happy jackals, and even did a little torso-dancing (which is something even happy jackals can’t do).
I left the venue almost immediately upon the performance’s conclusion, pausing only to gaze lovingly at Miss Deradoorian while she manned (in the most delightful and feminine fashion) the merchandise counter. There was happiness all around me, but was it merely the happiness of dullards? Of pigs with full bellies and empty heads? I couldn’t say for sure, although I suspected that it was. I smiled to myself and tried in vain to think of some Nietzsche I could quote, then began the journey home. Back to the attic of my parents’ house. Back to computer games and internet porn. Back to never speaking to a living soul. SO LONG SUCKERS.
The Mint Lounge, Manchester
01/04/09
Pre-gig Tribulations:
1) Anxiety caused by suspicion that event is an elaborate April Fools.
2) Anxiety caused by jibe delivered by rejected drug dealer encountered during queuing process: "you're all boring."
3) Anxiety caused by prospect of having to leave halfway through Dirty Projectors' set to catch last train home.
Conclusion:
It's never been harder (for me) to have a good time.
Hard, but not impossible. Once I’d confirmed to my own satisfaction that the gig was indeed real, courtesy of a quick inspection of the venue (which exposed the presence of at least one Dirty Projector), and established a contingency plan for the late-running scenario, it was only the accusation of boringness that remained. Still, it troubled me more deeply than its compatriots.
I began to inspect my fellow attendees, trying to gauge how boring they were, in the hope that this would give me some insight into my own condition; my findings were mixed, but there did appear to be a surprisingly high level of boringness in the room, far higher than seemed appropriate for such a hot gig. Unless, I realised with horror, the hotness of the gig was a delusion of my own boring mind—was it possible that I had been tricked by the malign spirits of consumer culture into thinking that my tastes were relevant and lively when they were really no more than the carefully engineered impulses of a brain in a jar? Was I no better than a U2 fan? This prospect chilled me to the core, but I soon rallied when I realised that a boring person, a truly boring person, would no sooner recognise his own boringness than would a tree or stone (i.e. being boring involves a whole different paradigm of consciousness, in which self-awareness has no place).
Nor would this hypothetical boring person be disappointed with the output of the night’s first support act, Lucky Dragons, as I was. Well, that’s not necessarily so; such a person would probably have a near limitless capacity for being bored by things: the great works of cinema, literature and the visual arts; the physical act of love—each would bore him in equal measure (while, conversely, a showing of Talladega Nights would send him into hysterics). But, like the proverbial stopped clock, once in a while his response would be appropriate, and Lucky Dragons are a case in point. I maintain, however, that the boredom I experienced during the performance (which consisted of primitivist, droney-loopy noises, reminiscent of things I’d been bored by two or three years before) was in fact the natural response of a lively and agile mind.
Polar Bear were another matter. Jazzy and rocky without being a jazz-rock band in the traditional sense (in that they were oriented towards the jazz side, which is infinitely more appealing), they seemed agreeable enough; had I not been sitting down to rest (and to discuss the best means by which one may establish a career in The Media) I imagine that I would have enjoyed them quite a lot. As it was, I let their performance pass by without notice, as though it were an attractive woman I’d spotted across the room but had decided not to bother introducing myself to because that almost always just leads to a brief, awkward and self-esteem-sapping conversation, after which you never see her again.
Happily, my second-set nap left me sufficiently energised to make my way to the front for the headliners, which paid off to the tune of spades. Newly embiggened by the additions of bassist Nat Baldwin and backing vocalist Haley Dekle (who is in dire need of having-a-cool-name lessons from her colleagues Amber Coffman and Angel Deradoorian), the Dirty Projectors are now 50% more raucous (although 75% of that increase is down to the Tourette’s-like performance of “musical director” Dave Longstreth).
Like Deerhoof, DPs operate in a realm of octopodial tightness, where each member (or limb) of the band appears to have absolute mastery of his or her movements, but isn’t necessarily interested in coordinating them with those of everyone else (this goes double for Longstreth). The upshot is that their gigs descend into mere anarchy once in a while (I guess even octopods can’t be on top of things 24/7), but when everything comes together it feels like a miraculous event. Happily, such events occur with relative frequency, and the band’s enthusiasm makes even the most ramshackle passages seem compelling.
The set mainly consisted of material from the forthcoming Bitte Orca LP, which sounds like it’s going to expand on the ex-anarcho-punk-goes-Afro-pop stylings of Rise Above. Only three older tracks made it in: “Fucked for Life” from the New Attitude EP; “”Depression” from Rise Above; and “Knotty Pine,” the David Byrne collaboration written for the latest Dark Was the Night charity compilation. These were received with greater and greater shows of appreciation from the audience, who whooped and howled like happy jackals, and even did a little torso-dancing (which is something even happy jackals can’t do).
I left the venue almost immediately upon the performance’s conclusion, pausing only to gaze lovingly at Miss Deradoorian while she manned (in the most delightful and feminine fashion) the merchandise counter. There was happiness all around me, but was it merely the happiness of dullards? Of pigs with full bellies and empty heads? I couldn’t say for sure, although I suspected that it was. I smiled to myself and tried in vain to think of some Nietzsche I could quote, then began the journey home. Back to the attic of my parents’ house. Back to computer games and internet porn. Back to never speaking to a living soul. SO LONG SUCKERS.
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