Congratulations Venus ... thanks for making my year once again.

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 07/05/2008 19:24:36  ♥ written by derek ( / www.pegritz.com)

The Forms - Knowledge in Hand

The Forms

Seriously, is everyone in New York City in a band? The sheer number of musical acts to come that one city is staggering. However, given the filthy, overcrowded, damnear horrific condition of the Rotten Apple, it only makes sense that so many would turn to music to liberate them from the putrid reality of their surroundings.

The Forms' music is a perfect example of that escape-from-reality sound. The Brooklyn-based quartet of Alex Tween, Matt Walsh, and Brendan and Jackson Kenny have garnered a great deal of positive press for their debut album Icarus and self-titled follow-up--both produced by the legendary Steve Albini himself. For a band that's been together since 2000, their output has been scarce, but always high-quality. In many ways, The Forms sound rather like a cross between Coldplay and prog-rock, producing melodic indie rock in all manner of odd, nonstandard time signatures--which may be somewhat offputting to some listeners, but stick with them: the sound will grow on you. Even if the time-signatures are rather alien to pop music, the melodies are strong and easy to follow.

Unlike many The Forms focus first and foremost on songwriting, not on musical virtuosity, and this is apparent througout their self-tilted second album. "Knowledge in Hand" opens the album with a defining statement of the band's somewhat psychedelic, largely distortion-free sound, with a groovy layering of piano and guitars to back up a powerful lead vocal. "Bones" and "Blue Whale" are both stirling examples of shimmery pop-rock that recalls the glory days of 4AD while featuring a distinctly modern sound (mainly created by Albini's clean and no-nonsense production, which hasn't changed much since the 1980s, though it now clearly partakes of modern studio technology). At 3:50 long, "Blue Whale" is the longest song on the record, with most of the other tracks measuring only three minutes in length. This musical economy actually serves the band's melody-driven quality well, as there is no sonic "filler"--like extended guitar solos or bridges--in any of their songs.

However, this brevity also works against the music, in some cases. Many songs do not end, but simply fade out after the three-minute-mark as if the band just doesn't know how to bring them to a conclusion, so they just keep playing while Albini pulls the master mix fader down to zero. I wonder just how well this stuff translates live: if you can't figure out how to end a song, what do you do after the final verse is sung--just quit playing? And though none of the developed tracks themselves have any musical filler, there are two tracks, "Borges" and "Blue Whale (outro)" that, at less than a minute long each (the latter is only seventeen seconds long), seem to serve no purpose whatsoever on the record. They're not even sketches of songs. Quite frankly, I think they're simply studio outtakes the band decided to throw on the album just for the hell of it.

Nonetheless, The Forms is a very good listening experience whose etherial chords and atmospheric vocals will certainly open up a gateway in your mind to a prettier place. If your reality is bleak and crummy as any Brooklyn street, The Forms will gladly take you along to a much better realm.

Sadly, they have no live dates listed.

Links: theforms.org myspace.com/forms

To everyone who has wondered where I have been and to all those who have sent me msgs and I haven't got back to you I am very sorry.

Initially I was trying to catch up on some essential paperwork - not even remotely finished yet, but that had to be put on hold and it is still waiting for me.

Then it really all started - there has been family crisis after family crisis.

Just when I thought I would be back here to say hello, Hubby had other plans. He had a heart attack on Tuesday and had to be flown to Melbourne.  I followed down by car with our eldest son and we returned on Friday to do things which couldn't be put off.  Hubby came back home last night with our 2nd eldest son.

Luckily when the heart attack occurred, we did every thing right and got an ambulance immediately and he was given treatment straight away at our local hospital which dissolved the clot very quickly.  So it looks as if damage to the heart is minimal.

His specialist (he has never had a specialist before) said even if Hubby had lived on lettuce for all of his life he still would have had a heart attack, as it appears there is a strong genetic link.  Now his brothers and sister need to have stress tests, as does his cousins on his mother's side.  Eventually as the children get to around the age of 40, they too will need to be monitored.

We now have to have a his and hers section to our medicine cabinet, as we are now on about an even par with the number of medications we take.

We have been very lucky our family has been there every step of the way and are still helping out at this very moment.

I hope everyone else is doing well.

Having taken in one of my son's friends, my eyes have been opened to what life is like on the streets for teens (and for some who aren't on the streets).

Keep in mind that I'm talking about teens anywhere from 14 to 18. 

Some of these kids live at the teen shelter because their parents kicked them out.  We personally know 6 teen girls who were kicked out of their own homes when they got pregnant. 

They have no supervision, no role models, and no one to hold them accountable.  They steal food and clothes out of necessity. 

Other kids live at home with their parents, but their parents sell drugs to the kid's friends to make money.  Some of the kids who live at home don't eat for days.  Their parents don't buy groceries or cook meals, buy them clothes, or provide for any of their needs.  These kids don't shower for weeks at a time because they weren't taught the basics.  Their days revolve around buying and selling drugs, getting people to buy them alcohol and cigarettes, and stealing if they're hungry.

I'm talking about Maine.  Did you know that? 

They form gangs because that's the only family they can find.  They have to act tough to protect themselves.

No wonder the teen suicide rate keeps climbing.  These kids are treated like they are disposable by their own parents, as well as society.

I think it's getting worse because funding for after-school programs was cut a long time ago for kids over 12 years old.  After that, the kids are on their own.  That takes away a safe and nurturing place to go for these kids.  For some kids, that is the only place they can get a meal and not get yelled at.

It is so sad.  I wish I could do more, but I haven't figured out what that is yet.

The human mind is so twisty.  At every turn it's like it's trying to get you.  It will use any taste of sorrow to convince you you're worthless.  It will use any taste of happiness to convince you to go off center to get more.

It's enough to make someone scared to move at all.

But then, ha!  It has won yet again!

Like Ben was saying earlier, we have so much power and we don't even realize it.  I'm thinking about that more.  The ignorance keeps us from being powerful...but the ironic thing is that it does so by trying to make us seek power.  But there is an inherent potency in us that we can only access when we stop seeking it or trying to impose it.

I don't want to just feel happy.  I don't want to focus on a state, or achieving a feeling.  Just as the novice mystic tries to attain enlightenment just for the high of it and then learns the error of this approach...I must not seek happiness. 

What I seek is truth.  And truth is sometimes painful.  But there is no point in avoiding it.

I'm just glad I have someone to hold my hand while I face it for myself.

[Cross-posted] If you follow my ramblings, even when they don’t make sense, you know I had my knives out for the ANZ National Bank here in New Zealand for what I think is questionable practice. So it was interesting to meet a few people tonight who are employees of the bank, one of whom was very staunch about defending her workplace against my charges about, well, bank charges.
   Humble pie time first: Sir John Anderson left the bank as a director 18 months ago, so the criticisms I put at him were unfair. I apologize to Sir John.
   Tonight, I don’t know whether I should be applauding the ANZ for brainwashing its younger staff so effectively or whether I should be congratulating myself for closing the overwhelming majority of accounts held there, given that there are people who do not give a damn about the customer.
   While people should defend their positions, they should also be open to hearing others’ viewpoints. Respectfully. The customer is right. Not so, it seems, at the ANZ.
   ‘The bank must make a profit, so it should make it from the mass customer base,’ I was told. ‘How would you do it?’
   I answered, ‘Through investing, as you did years ago before charging us.’
   She argued the usual points of the bank providing a service, before I confronted her with some basic logic that I have stated here before.
   A deposit to the bank is, after all, my loan to the bank. When the bank loans to me, can I charge it a “Jack privilege fee”?
   Around this point I was asked if we could change the subject.
   There are several conclusions we can draw. First, an executive at the ANZ bank, a fairly high-up one, is not open to hearing from her customers. She has her own world, where she has been conveniently conned into thinking the monetarist solution is the only one, when history tell us it isn’t—and that the bank’s cutting of costs over the last 20 years should actually make it more efficient.
   Another member of the staff, a little older but I understand a little more junior, put forward her theory which made a bit more sense, about how mortgages no longer funded the bank’s costs as effectively. She did not know for sure.
   But this shows just how bad the ANZ brand is. Different answers from different people—but the higher up you go, the less they care.
   Front-line staff, as I discussed earlier, cannot offer a credible explanation about bank fees that any customer who has been there for 20 or more years can fathom. Fact: people do have memories.
   And it seems that it is accepted as gospel that customers are to be taken from even at a higher level, no questions asked.
   How well ANZ has managed to blind its staff.
   A good brand is one that listens to consumers about their concerns—and actually levels with internal and external audiences about its policies.
   This experience confirms that the ANZ cannot level to either executives or front-line branch personnel, which means consumers are too far down the food chain for it to reach.
   This Australian-owned bank has been profiting very well from everyday New Zealanders over the last few years, too.
   But I cannot see that continue.
   Any brand expert will tell you that for all the financial analyses that a client shrouds itself in, the minute the brand falters, the effects on the bottom line will be felt.
   One of the symptoms is what I describe above: one based around the hope that people simply do not remember how they behaved before they began cutting their services and putting up charges.
   It is a failure to be transparent and to tell the truth to those consumers—and it only takes one who is aged over 30 to be able to remember the good ol’ days versus what I consider to be the unethical treatment that is metered out today.
   Just as I said a few months ago, the TSB Bank seems to be the only choice New Zealanders have, and at least the profits don’t make their way over to Sydney.
   It was my ‘prerogative’, said the executive, for me to do as I wished with my money, if I had gone to the TSB.
   No attempt to get it back—no promises to look into things. Even others have offered that to keep me on as a customer. Higher up, I guess, no one really cares. A lost customer isn’t important.
   Even if the lost customer is a stubborn bastard with a big mouth.
   If the ANZ wishes, I am happy to run a seminar for them to inform them of the niceties of listening to their customers. Unsurprisingly, I understand tonight that its profits are heading south this year.
   This problem won’t be fixed with advertising, rebranding or PR.
   It might be fixed by giving customers what they want and pursuing something other than short-term profit, which is exactly the message the ANZ has been sending me year after year.
   Because if banks aren’t looking at the long term, then what heck are we entrusting a penny to them?

http://www.theaustralian.news.com.au/story/0,25197,23974617-12377,00.html

http://www.alternet.org/rights/90292/?page=entire

Warmongerer and neocon Christopher Hitchens just noticed that waterboarding is torture!

Stop the presses! Christopher Hitchens just noticed that waterboarding is torture!

Hitchens announced the news like he'd brought it down from Mount Sinai, in a Vanity Fair article. "Believe me," he told a waiting nation, "it's torture." Well, yeah. It usually is, when it happens to you. When it happens to somebody else, it's "extreme interrogation." I thought everybody over the age of 5 knew that, but as usual, I misoverestimated the media. Hitchens' tame little torture session is the biggest S&M video on the web since "9½ Weeks."

Hitchens' video is totally fake -- there's even soft-rock background music playing on the video, better music than you usually get at the dentist's office, and his "interrogators" treat him more like a client getting a mud pack at a spa than a real suspect in Iraq. That makes it even more disgusting that Hitch caved in after only 11 seconds of having water poured over a towel on his face. Eleven seconds! Think about the timeline here: For five long years he supported this stuff when it was happening to other people. Once it happened to him, he needed exactly 11 seconds to see the light.

Of course if Hitchens had been a real Iraqi suspect, they'd never have had to waterboard him at all. They do that to tough suspects, not wimps like him. In a real torture cell, everything would be a lot tougher from the start. For example, Chris wouldn't be in the nice dress shirt and slacks he's wearing on the video. He'd be naked -- a gross image, what a lifetime of booze and lying does to the body, but we have to be hard-nosed here -- because keeping the prisoner naked is basic interrogation strategy, especially with a culture as horrified of gettin' nekkid as Arabs are. You'll recall that in those Abu Ghraib pictures, the prisoners were naked.

So that's fake already, and the video gets faker as it goes. The guys "interrogating" him are fat, middle-aged, mild-mannered dudes. They don't even yell at him. A real suspect in Iraq would be snatched off the street, smacked around until he passes out, stripped and dumped into a cell with a hood over his head. He wouldn't be able to sleep off his misery, either, because sleep deprivation is one of the oldest, most effective tortures. The interrogators would maintain this schedule for hours, days, weeks, depending on how well and how soon the victim breaks down. When they think he's ready -- like, they notice with satisfaction that he screams like a steam whistle every time he hears footsteps in the corridor -- they drag him out of his cell and strap him onto that waterboarding table.

Well, Chris is a busy man and didn't have time for all that background research, so what you see in this video is a guy who hasn't been so much as slapped or yelled at. Who probably just finished a 10-martini lunch at some upscale restaurant. That's ridiculous enough, but the interrogators make it even more ridiculous with their little introduction to the torture session. One guy says, "All right, listen up, I'm going to give you some instructions ..." Then he tells the fat man on the table, "We're going to place metal objects in each of your hands," and if he feels "unbearable stress" at any time, all he has to do is drop the objects and they'll stop.

I've had dentists who did root canals on me without being that nice; they stuck to "this is going to hurt." More to the point here, putting the victim in "unbearable stress" is, uh, the whole point of torture, or "extreme interrogation," or whatever you want to call it. The last thing you'd ever do is give the victim a sense of power, like he can stop the process by dropping a "metal object" on the floor.

That kind of etiquette is what you get from those expensive dominatrixes English dudes like to get whipped by, or those nerf BDSM sites that talk about "consensual power exchanges." What reminded me most of those BDSM sites is the "code word" they tell Hitchens he can use to stop the waterboarding: "That word is red, R-E-D." They ask him if he understands and he says, "Yes, sir." That "sir" only added to the ridiculous porn feel here, like Hitchens was paying a hundred pounds an hour to have Baron Whipsong or Lady Cruella, whichever way he likes it, wear out their riding crop on his eager little bum.

The real thing isn't nearly so nice. After you've been beaten on bruises (which hurt more each time) for a few days, they slam the cell door open, screaming abuse at you, kick you to your feet and take you down the corridor, slamming your head into the walls as often as they feel like it, and strap you down. And all the time they're screaming: "OK, you worthless (Arabic obscenity here) -- We're through with you! We don't even want you any more! Ever drown before, (obscenity)? Ever go swimming head-first, (obscenity)?"

If you remember "The Big Lebowski," you can get a better idea of what waterboarding is like by remembering the scene where the Dude walks into his bungalow, where Jackie Treehorn's yuppie thugs are waiting for him. The blond one grabs the Dude's hair and runs him headfirst into the toilet, screaming, "Where's the money, Lebowski? Where's the money, shithead?" See, the point is to show overwhelming, terrifying power over the suspect, not give him little safety words.

But all that niceness doesn't matter once the torturer's helper takes a plastic milk container full of water and pours it, bit by bit, over a towel covering Hitch's face. The "metal object," whatever it is, drops after 11 seconds. And of course these fake interrogators are all over Hitch, making sure he's OK. That's also totally fake, but why bother listing any more fake features of this nonsense? The truth is that anybody who's been through as much dentistry as I have knows that nobody holds out under torture. It's not just the pain, it's the fear of the pain. I used to try to be a hero like the ones in my war books every time I went to have a root canal from the mean old Armenian who did our dental work. He scrimped on the Novocain, so I had plenty of scope to practice. And I learned the same thing any sane person knows by the time they grow up: Nobody can resist torture. Just like anybody knows what having water poured over a towel on your face is like: It's like drowning. Duh. Anybody who wanted to know that already knew it.

So why does Hitchens make such a big show of just realizing it now, after five years of supporting it? To me, the answer's easy: He's withdrawing from Iraq, making a big Jesus-on-the-cross demonstration, like a public punishment, for supporting the war all this time. By getting himself tortured in this half-assed way, he gives himself a reason to see the light, desert from the Neocon forces before it's too late. Karl Rove won't be happy, though, because the last thing the GOP wants is for people to start realizing what we're actually doing in Iraq. Reminds me of the debate about abolishing flogging with the cat-o'-nine-tails in the British Navy. The first time the bill was introduced, everybody laughed at how ridiculous a notion that was. Then somebody thought of having a real cat-o'-nine-tails introduced to the House of Commons, a bloody old Exhibit A. Nobody said a thing; they just voted unanimously to forbid it.

That's all it takes to change anybody's mind about torture, getting one little 11-second whiff of it, even if it's nowhere close to the real thing. The interesting thing is not that Hitchens changed his mind; it's the strategic thinking that made him decide to do it now. The timing of this little martyr is the key here, and what it tells you is that Hitchens is declaring martyrdom and getting out. He just unilaterally withdrew from Iraq, and in only 11 seconds.