Daze
What a first week. I can tell already that this semester is going to be intense but awesome.
The most remarkable of my classes have been ARTHIST 204 and LATINAM 201, both of which are almost entirely new subject areas for me, but both of which count towards my media studies minor. Contemporary Art and Theory is characterised by a class in which, on first (intoxicated) count, there are five men in the congregation of about one hundred and fifty students; and impenetrable but gloriously pretentious readings (pretension is a good thing). Here’s a sample for you from Jean Baudrillard’s piece, ‘Astral America’:
I get the feeling that the media studies students in the class are a significant minority (not that what I just said makes sense). Most class members are Elam students – interesting individuals, not that I’ve gathered up the courage to talk to any yet. I think the entire back row in which I sit is comprised of apprehensive media studies students. You can tell by the way they speak and how they don’t wear berets. Dodgy dodgy naff naff. It may be that the general androgyny of class members might be part of the reason why I am under the impression that there are so few men in the class, but we’ll have to wait and see.
Latin American History and Culture Through Film shows promise to be the most exotic course I have taken yet, aside from ARTHIST 204 of course. From the lecturer’s unique South American accent fused with a decidedly United States-sounding drawl, to the class comprised mainly of adults and the separate tutorials for English and Spanish speakers, and the fact that the course reader is massive as well as free, it has this strange effect of making me feel as if I’m not even part of the university environment whilst I am in the class. I would think that the dimmed lights and constant showing of film clips adds to the effect as well. It’s already obvious that it’s a much more sensible way of accumulating points for one’s media degree than doing ‘actual’ media courses.
On Thursday I had the pleasure of seeing Caveh Zahedi’s film I Am A Sex Addict, that is being screened as part of the International Film Festival, with Mat and Tina. A humourous self-effacing account of the director’s own addiction to prostitutes and how he overcame it, the film intersperses and layers narration and speeches to the camera provided by Caveh with dramatisations of the various situations that he encountered, featuring Caveh as himself. The various women whom Caveh had been in relationships with throughout his life – and whom he had attempted to render accommodating of his fetish – were played by a succession of superb actresses, although as Caveh commented in the narration, he attempted to get the real women themselves to take part in the film and play themselves. Such is the autobiographical intensity that Caveh obviously perceives I Am A Sex Addict to carry.
It is a reasonably simple film that manages to show the audience a great degree of the depth of Caveh’s personality. On the surface this is done through the filmic construction of his past experiences as they would have been seen through his own eyes, in an appropriately faux-realistic, melodramatic-hyperbolic style – allowing the audience to identify directly with his perception of events and evoking an endearingly awkward and precious character that a lot of us can identify with.
However, on a deeper level it shows Caveh’s increased strength as a human being, having personally progressed to such a degree in overcoming his prostitute fetish that he can now look back on all the problems that it caused for him and laugh. It shows that he is now far enough removed from his struggle that he can make fun of the events that it involved and make entertainment of it, whilst also acknowledging it enough to not deny the effect that it had on him and how it has influenced who he has become sexually.
I think for me I Am A Sex Addict was a decidedly good film to watch after having drunk two jugs of beer at Shadows twenty minutes beforehand. Considering that having had a jug before my ethnomusicology lecture the previous day had resulted in me taking intense amusement to the lecturer innocently noting that if it were in fact true that the Pacific Islands were originally founded by a group including only two women, “they were busy, and very productive,” the film was destined to be eye-wateringly funny after two jugs. In the latter parts of the film I had my scarf draped over the peak of my cap and was twiddling the tassles imagining that it was my fringe, and was pushing, prodding and poking my open eyes with my fingers because I was too gone to hesitate.
Friday night contained the Westlake Boys’ and Westlake Girls’ High Schools’ stage production of Footloose which was held at the just-opened-this-year Westlake Boys’ Auditorium. Although rife with crude, unfunny humour (“So what do you do around here for fun?” was replied to by another character with the hand signal for masturbation, for example) it was thoroughly entertaining, with reasonable timelessness, an epic scale and most of all great music all being part of the experience.
At the commencement of the musical, the audience was invited to get up and dance in the aisles during the show. Mat, Andrew and I saved it to the last song, but we put on a good show ourselves, with the stage being empty besides the band and the majority of the auditorium’s attention on us. The deputy headmaster was not pleased – apparently he was staring us down – but we’d had the invitation to dance.
After the auditorium had been vacated we continued to dance outside the music block, to an isolated cry of “faggot!”. Going to Footloose was a rewarding experience, not just because it was a great show, but because it reaffirmed to me how much I’ve been able to distance myself from the culture of Westlake during my short time at university, emphasising that I really was never a part of it, and highlighting the phantasmagoric levels of individual freedom of expression that university students are lucky to be afforded.
Last night was the night of the Australian Pink Floyd Project with the Auckland Philharmonia Orchestra at the Aotea Centre. The orchestra opened on its own with a beautiful, gentle, uplifting and tear-jerking performance of Comfortably Numb which, interestingly, without rock accompaniment was not discernable by many people around me as a Pink Floyd piece (“I don’t recognise this -- this isn’t Pink Floyd!” gasped the mum next to me in mild annoyance). I don’t mean to blow my own trumpet so to speak but this gave me something of an impression that I have more of an ear for Pink Floyd’s music than the average ‘fan’ – for once, it wasn’t as simple as picking out the opening bassline or knowing the lyrics (there was, of course, no singing at this point), so suddenly scores of people were dumbfounded. It was quite a strange concept to suddenly be taking on. It made me feel good about myself though.
Following that, a wake-up call came in the form of a spirited and thunderous rendition of Bring The Boys Back Home, before the fantastically flamboyant and down-to-earth orchestral conductor introduced the rock band onstage, for a considerably lengthy moment forgetting the lattermost word in their name. The familiar heartbeat heralded the beginning of the full compliment’s run-through of The Dark Side of the Moon. In the first half of this section, On The Run in particular was evoked surprisingly spectacularly, with flute weaving skilfully in and out of the old faithful synthesiser progression, cymbals being worked nimbly by John Zak and trumpets believe it or not effectively providing the airplane sounds.
During Time I realised that the electric guitar was probably not high up enough in the mix, although undoubtedly this was to compensate for the presence of the orchestra (the audience did want to be able to hear it, after all) and the prominence of the two male singers’ powerful voices. I found myself a tad frustrated at having to squint my ears to hear the execution of one of the best guitar solos ever written, but the band redeemed themselves here with Jamie Messenger’s great keyboard effects that super-effectively conveyed the sound of Rick Wright’s Hammond organ (Messenger is also one of the two awesome men responsible for writing the superb orchestral score especially for this project).
The Great Gig In The Sky was simply gobsmacking, with not only the three female backing singers proving themselves but the orchestra fully coming into its own with what was to be one of the most incredible interpretations of the whole night. Money issued the first massive wave of ecstasy from the audience, with one of the most well-known basslines in rock music being unexpectedly substituted for the gorgeous throaty sound of all the cellos in the orchestra entering the fray at once. It was fantastic watching all the cellists enthusiastically bobbing their heads to the 7/4 time signature whilst the truly superb saxophonist soloed over the top and Rob Pippan wielded his axe with silky smooth precision.
Us And Them and Brain Damage both stood out spectacularly in terms of the orchestral compositions that had been written for them – unfortunately, Any Colour You Like was skipped; it is strange to note the regular criticism this piece comes under for sounding “dated.” I’ve even heard it said that it contains “faintly hilarious axemanship”! Personally I think it’s a fantastic piece and I hope the Australian Pink Floyd Project didn’t leave it out for the aforementioned reasons. However, I must say that the soaring arpeggios of Eclipse were the best I’ve ever heard them sound with a full orchestra backing them up. The piece was made appropriately epic and exultant in the league that I’ve always wished it was on the studio album (although it is undeniably mindblowing on there, too).
After a break the orchestra performed The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn Suite – this was a rendition of the Syd Barrett-penned songs Scarecrow, Bike and Astronomy Domine in tribute to the man himself. These sounded fantastic played by the orchestra, particularly the menacing take on Astronomy Domine and the two male vocalists did a superb vocal job.
Then came what was inevitably going to be the musical and emotional highlight of the night – Shine On You Crazy Diamond. The song has never sounded so sorrowful and this was only made all the more poignant by Syd Barrett’s recent passing. One could hear the members of the audience taking deep shaky breaths in and out amidst the swelling violins and cellos and between what would have usually been keyboard solos, but which now were replaced by absolutely gorgeous, ornate bass flute work and trumpet work at different times. The final guitar solo before the opening lyrics of “Remember when you were young, you shone like the sun” was substituted for a stunning violin solo that actually did a very good job at sounding like it was caught somewhere halfway between violin and guitar. I was afraid to move my body at all during this song for fear of breaking out in emotion or feeling disrespectful to Syd. But the explosion of applause and cheering at the end made up for this.
In the closing quarter of the concert the Australian Pink Floyd Project showed a welcome liking for A Momentary Lapse of Reason material, with the ensemble conjuring up a fiery Dogs of War, precise and spine-tingling Signs of Life, and levitating Learning To Fly, as well as a repetition of Comfortably Numb – this time with the rock band helping out – and the obligatory singalong of Wish You Were Here. Another Brick In The Wall, Pt. 2 occurred as a rousing encore. With that, the massive gathering of performers took a bow and a fantastic night was done. To anyone who didn’t go to the Australian Pink Floyd Project this time but would have considered it, I thoroughly recommend that you go when you get another chance.
Not only was the evening utterly enjoyable for me as a Pink Floyd fan but it has increased the interest that I’ve always had in me to attend orchestral performances exponentially and I’m certainly going to have to look at going to see the Auckland Philharmonia perform again in the near future. This is the start of something great and it’s all thanks to my favourite musicians having written such versatile music that can flawlessly transcend the boundaries between pop and classical music. Fantastic.
Thom Yorke’s The Eraser has been the soundtrack of my past week of life. I will say now that I’m extremely keen on the new album – it is brilliant, and he has nailed it -- but I’ll save the run-down for another entry.
The most remarkable of my classes have been ARTHIST 204 and LATINAM 201, both of which are almost entirely new subject areas for me, but both of which count towards my media studies minor. Contemporary Art and Theory is characterised by a class in which, on first (intoxicated) count, there are five men in the congregation of about one hundred and fifty students; and impenetrable but gloriously pretentious readings (pretension is a good thing). Here’s a sample for you from Jean Baudrillard’s piece, ‘Astral America’:
Astral America. The lyrical nature of pure circulation. As against the melancholy of European analyses. The direct star-blast from vectors and signals, from the vertical and the spatial. As against the fevered distance of cultural gaze.Obviously the course is right up my alley, but that in writing this entry in Microsoft Word the majority of the above-quoted sentences have been underlined green, suggesting grammatical nonsensicality, or red, suggesting retarded words, says a lot. I’ve got a lot of wide reading to do to catch up on this paper. Media studies students, having been encouraged to take the paper as part of their degree, have been advised to read up on modernity – because the course has jumped right into postmodernism, which is of course a little hard to grasp if you aren’t familiar enough with modernity already.
Joy in the collapse of metaphor, which here in Europe we merely grieve over. The exhilaration of obscenity, the obscenity of obviousness, the obviousness of power, the power of simulation. As against our disappointed virginity, our chasms of affectation.
Sideration. Star-blasted, horizontally by the car, altitudinally by the plane, electronically by television, geologically by deserts, stereolithically by the megalopoloi, transpolitically by the power game, the power museum that America has become for the whole world.
I get the feeling that the media studies students in the class are a significant minority (not that what I just said makes sense). Most class members are Elam students – interesting individuals, not that I’ve gathered up the courage to talk to any yet. I think the entire back row in which I sit is comprised of apprehensive media studies students. You can tell by the way they speak and how they don’t wear berets. Dodgy dodgy naff naff. It may be that the general androgyny of class members might be part of the reason why I am under the impression that there are so few men in the class, but we’ll have to wait and see.
Latin American History and Culture Through Film shows promise to be the most exotic course I have taken yet, aside from ARTHIST 204 of course. From the lecturer’s unique South American accent fused with a decidedly United States-sounding drawl, to the class comprised mainly of adults and the separate tutorials for English and Spanish speakers, and the fact that the course reader is massive as well as free, it has this strange effect of making me feel as if I’m not even part of the university environment whilst I am in the class. I would think that the dimmed lights and constant showing of film clips adds to the effect as well. It’s already obvious that it’s a much more sensible way of accumulating points for one’s media degree than doing ‘actual’ media courses.
On Thursday I had the pleasure of seeing Caveh Zahedi’s film I Am A Sex Addict, that is being screened as part of the International Film Festival, with Mat and Tina. A humourous self-effacing account of the director’s own addiction to prostitutes and how he overcame it, the film intersperses and layers narration and speeches to the camera provided by Caveh with dramatisations of the various situations that he encountered, featuring Caveh as himself. The various women whom Caveh had been in relationships with throughout his life – and whom he had attempted to render accommodating of his fetish – were played by a succession of superb actresses, although as Caveh commented in the narration, he attempted to get the real women themselves to take part in the film and play themselves. Such is the autobiographical intensity that Caveh obviously perceives I Am A Sex Addict to carry.
It is a reasonably simple film that manages to show the audience a great degree of the depth of Caveh’s personality. On the surface this is done through the filmic construction of his past experiences as they would have been seen through his own eyes, in an appropriately faux-realistic, melodramatic-hyperbolic style – allowing the audience to identify directly with his perception of events and evoking an endearingly awkward and precious character that a lot of us can identify with.
However, on a deeper level it shows Caveh’s increased strength as a human being, having personally progressed to such a degree in overcoming his prostitute fetish that he can now look back on all the problems that it caused for him and laugh. It shows that he is now far enough removed from his struggle that he can make fun of the events that it involved and make entertainment of it, whilst also acknowledging it enough to not deny the effect that it had on him and how it has influenced who he has become sexually.
I think for me I Am A Sex Addict was a decidedly good film to watch after having drunk two jugs of beer at Shadows twenty minutes beforehand. Considering that having had a jug before my ethnomusicology lecture the previous day had resulted in me taking intense amusement to the lecturer innocently noting that if it were in fact true that the Pacific Islands were originally founded by a group including only two women, “they were busy, and very productive,” the film was destined to be eye-wateringly funny after two jugs. In the latter parts of the film I had my scarf draped over the peak of my cap and was twiddling the tassles imagining that it was my fringe, and was pushing, prodding and poking my open eyes with my fingers because I was too gone to hesitate.
Friday night contained the Westlake Boys’ and Westlake Girls’ High Schools’ stage production of Footloose which was held at the just-opened-this-year Westlake Boys’ Auditorium. Although rife with crude, unfunny humour (“So what do you do around here for fun?” was replied to by another character with the hand signal for masturbation, for example) it was thoroughly entertaining, with reasonable timelessness, an epic scale and most of all great music all being part of the experience.
At the commencement of the musical, the audience was invited to get up and dance in the aisles during the show. Mat, Andrew and I saved it to the last song, but we put on a good show ourselves, with the stage being empty besides the band and the majority of the auditorium’s attention on us. The deputy headmaster was not pleased – apparently he was staring us down – but we’d had the invitation to dance.
After the auditorium had been vacated we continued to dance outside the music block, to an isolated cry of “faggot!”. Going to Footloose was a rewarding experience, not just because it was a great show, but because it reaffirmed to me how much I’ve been able to distance myself from the culture of Westlake during my short time at university, emphasising that I really was never a part of it, and highlighting the phantasmagoric levels of individual freedom of expression that university students are lucky to be afforded.
Last night was the night of the Australian Pink Floyd Project with the Auckland Philharmonia Orchestra at the Aotea Centre. The orchestra opened on its own with a beautiful, gentle, uplifting and tear-jerking performance of Comfortably Numb which, interestingly, without rock accompaniment was not discernable by many people around me as a Pink Floyd piece (“I don’t recognise this -- this isn’t Pink Floyd!” gasped the mum next to me in mild annoyance). I don’t mean to blow my own trumpet so to speak but this gave me something of an impression that I have more of an ear for Pink Floyd’s music than the average ‘fan’ – for once, it wasn’t as simple as picking out the opening bassline or knowing the lyrics (there was, of course, no singing at this point), so suddenly scores of people were dumbfounded. It was quite a strange concept to suddenly be taking on. It made me feel good about myself though.
Following that, a wake-up call came in the form of a spirited and thunderous rendition of Bring The Boys Back Home, before the fantastically flamboyant and down-to-earth orchestral conductor introduced the rock band onstage, for a considerably lengthy moment forgetting the lattermost word in their name. The familiar heartbeat heralded the beginning of the full compliment’s run-through of The Dark Side of the Moon. In the first half of this section, On The Run in particular was evoked surprisingly spectacularly, with flute weaving skilfully in and out of the old faithful synthesiser progression, cymbals being worked nimbly by John Zak and trumpets believe it or not effectively providing the airplane sounds.
During Time I realised that the electric guitar was probably not high up enough in the mix, although undoubtedly this was to compensate for the presence of the orchestra (the audience did want to be able to hear it, after all) and the prominence of the two male singers’ powerful voices. I found myself a tad frustrated at having to squint my ears to hear the execution of one of the best guitar solos ever written, but the band redeemed themselves here with Jamie Messenger’s great keyboard effects that super-effectively conveyed the sound of Rick Wright’s Hammond organ (Messenger is also one of the two awesome men responsible for writing the superb orchestral score especially for this project).
The Great Gig In The Sky was simply gobsmacking, with not only the three female backing singers proving themselves but the orchestra fully coming into its own with what was to be one of the most incredible interpretations of the whole night. Money issued the first massive wave of ecstasy from the audience, with one of the most well-known basslines in rock music being unexpectedly substituted for the gorgeous throaty sound of all the cellos in the orchestra entering the fray at once. It was fantastic watching all the cellists enthusiastically bobbing their heads to the 7/4 time signature whilst the truly superb saxophonist soloed over the top and Rob Pippan wielded his axe with silky smooth precision.
Us And Them and Brain Damage both stood out spectacularly in terms of the orchestral compositions that had been written for them – unfortunately, Any Colour You Like was skipped; it is strange to note the regular criticism this piece comes under for sounding “dated.” I’ve even heard it said that it contains “faintly hilarious axemanship”! Personally I think it’s a fantastic piece and I hope the Australian Pink Floyd Project didn’t leave it out for the aforementioned reasons. However, I must say that the soaring arpeggios of Eclipse were the best I’ve ever heard them sound with a full orchestra backing them up. The piece was made appropriately epic and exultant in the league that I’ve always wished it was on the studio album (although it is undeniably mindblowing on there, too).
After a break the orchestra performed The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn Suite – this was a rendition of the Syd Barrett-penned songs Scarecrow, Bike and Astronomy Domine in tribute to the man himself. These sounded fantastic played by the orchestra, particularly the menacing take on Astronomy Domine and the two male vocalists did a superb vocal job.
Then came what was inevitably going to be the musical and emotional highlight of the night – Shine On You Crazy Diamond. The song has never sounded so sorrowful and this was only made all the more poignant by Syd Barrett’s recent passing. One could hear the members of the audience taking deep shaky breaths in and out amidst the swelling violins and cellos and between what would have usually been keyboard solos, but which now were replaced by absolutely gorgeous, ornate bass flute work and trumpet work at different times. The final guitar solo before the opening lyrics of “Remember when you were young, you shone like the sun” was substituted for a stunning violin solo that actually did a very good job at sounding like it was caught somewhere halfway between violin and guitar. I was afraid to move my body at all during this song for fear of breaking out in emotion or feeling disrespectful to Syd. But the explosion of applause and cheering at the end made up for this.
In the closing quarter of the concert the Australian Pink Floyd Project showed a welcome liking for A Momentary Lapse of Reason material, with the ensemble conjuring up a fiery Dogs of War, precise and spine-tingling Signs of Life, and levitating Learning To Fly, as well as a repetition of Comfortably Numb – this time with the rock band helping out – and the obligatory singalong of Wish You Were Here. Another Brick In The Wall, Pt. 2 occurred as a rousing encore. With that, the massive gathering of performers took a bow and a fantastic night was done. To anyone who didn’t go to the Australian Pink Floyd Project this time but would have considered it, I thoroughly recommend that you go when you get another chance.
Not only was the evening utterly enjoyable for me as a Pink Floyd fan but it has increased the interest that I’ve always had in me to attend orchestral performances exponentially and I’m certainly going to have to look at going to see the Auckland Philharmonia perform again in the near future. This is the start of something great and it’s all thanks to my favourite musicians having written such versatile music that can flawlessly transcend the boundaries between pop and classical music. Fantastic.
Thom Yorke’s The Eraser has been the soundtrack of my past week of life. I will say now that I’m extremely keen on the new album – it is brilliant, and he has nailed it -- but I’ll save the run-down for another entry.
posted by Gary at 3:06 pm
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