Things in Light Podcast #20: Mostly Noise Mix

Noise music isn't for everyone. But, for those of us that it is for, well, there's nothing else quite like it. I could get all academic and prattle on about perception or signals and signatures, but what it really comes down to is a visceral reaction to sound. If you're of the noise-lovin' persuasion, New Mexico — and Burque in particular — is a damn fine place to call home. Things in Light is pleased to present our twentieth podcast, Mostly Noise Mix, featuring Summer Assassins (Raven Chacon and John Dieterich), Anna Mall, Postcommodity, William Fowler Collins, Luperci, Father of the Flood, TAHNZzz, Cinik, and Dan K. See the full track listing below.

TiL #20: Mostly Noise Mix from ϟ▲ϻ▲и✝ђ▲ ▲ииɇ on 8tracks.

1. Summer Assassins - Creeping of the Foul (excerpt)
2. Anna Mall - Vivre Se Vie
3. Postcommodity - Piles of Cougar Pelts (excerpt)
4. William Fowler Collins - Slow Motion Prayer Circle
5. Luperci - Excarnation III
6. Father of the Flood - The Wind Which Carries Your Scent
7. TAHNZzz - Ground Levels
8. Cinik - The Scene in Which the Villain Escapes
9. Dan K. - CLONÆZÆPÆM

Nineteen Hundred and Ninety Six

By Rudolfo Carrillo


Eddie sure as hell didn't wanna hafta spend the rest of his life in Burque, but damnit all if it weren't gonna happen that a-way. And the sun beat down on his black hair and nineteen-hundred and ninety-six was not a bad year.


He come back like a lightening storm from the Caribbean that January. A man with a scar across his belly and hands like starfish held a knife across his throat in Tobago, making with threats all because Eddie told the man that his haircut made him look new wave. The way it was tied up on his head like an abandoned coral reef made Eddie think it was just a convenient disguise; the kind la jura used when they wanted you to be comfortable, right before you said you wanted to score; before they stepped in with machetes drawn and handcuffs at the ready.


He got to wander away from that on two accounts, the first being his fluency with slang and the secondary having to do with the civil war presidents that hung out in his front pocket.
He left that place with acid grinding a poisonous hole in his gut. Eddie chartered an aeroplane and the ten seat Cessna, loaded down with Polar Beer and Spanish speaking comrades, made for the coast of the southern continent.


The Isle of Margarita was better, some of the streets were lined with orange trees, but even the good hotels smelled like shit. He drove out to the coast. The cabbie tuned into a station that was playing Stairway to Heaven over and over. The sea was brown and despicable and at dinner that night an old European couple hit him up for a threesome. He told 'em to sod off and wandered drunkenly back to his cabana.


Two days after that he was stranded in the student ghetto, reading the want ads in the Daily Lobo and smoking rolled up frajos that he had made from butts he found by the front door of the Frontier Restaurant.


The lord had mercy though, stepped in and Eddie scored a job as a substitute teacher. Shorn and shaved, wearing his old man's cast off business attire, it was easy enough to think he might be a teacher.


Now, the year was blowin' by, kinda like a rocket to the moon might look like from the proper vantage point. In May Eddie got asked by some folks in charge of the school if he wanted a job there for the summer, teaching the kids about science. So, they all ended up by making models of different atoms, listening to Eddie's collection of Beatles albums, and talking about the difference between waves and particles.


He liked all the responsibility and whatnot; the pizza in the cafeteria kept his spirit calm, but at night his head was still filled up with the mountains and seas and people that made up a faraway earth that he reckoned he ought to conquer while his youth permitted.


When summer school ended, he walked away and then rang up an old flame. She was living at the edge of the Himalaya mountains and goddammit if it didn't sound fine and picturesque where she was, with fruit bats a flyin' and the monsoon petering out to reveal an infinite, mountainous majesty that beat Burque to hell by comparison.


Since he needed some feria to get out there, he took a temp job at the university. They got him to work at the same college he had run screaming from six years before. The peeps at the art school were pleased as punch to see his sorry ass and let him get their internet connections sorted out, put him in charge of dispensing keys, and let him sit up in the front of the office typing out the chairman's memos, as a reminder of what might become of any random and lofty graduate of that place.


Every night he would tumble out of there and walk downtown. He'd spend everything he could come up with drinking with acquaintances and coaxing beautiful strangers back to his pad for physically gratifying but spiritually meaningless sexual encounters.


One night as summer was beginning to wane, he ran into a gal he known from back in his theater days. She was a townie with yellow hair and small, stubby hands. Sure enough they ended up back at her house and she wept like a Christian, telling Eddie about her life and how it was tragic and so forth. Her face turned red like a soviet flag when they did it and all he could think about was her poor mother sleeping in the next room, the scent of her dead father's shoes still haunting the family home.


At work the next day Eddie picked up a ringing phone and it was Aja calling, a trunk call from Nepal, and the operator asked if he wanted to be connected. The voice on the other side was dulcet and was like velvet. Come out here, the voice said, and we will make it work this time.


Eddie was all torn up by that. He liked the yellow haired girl, even though she told Eddie he dressed like a punk and prolly should trade in his patronage at Pacific Coast Sunwear for Macy's, if'n he really wanted to make it in the world of adult circumstance. Plus which, he had a history with Aja and just could not resist her Oxford accent, specially given the hot dry air, the crackling insect desert, the dull clerk's identity that he had gathered up into a bag called Albuquerque.


One morning after a party at the yellow haired gals house, he borrowed her car and drove over to Allsup's. Eddie poured one hundred and twenty quarters into the payphone so's that he could tell Aja he had decided what to do.


On Monday, he used a phone at the college to ring Aja up, again and again, mostly to hear her voice linger through the thick telephonic trunk of eternity. When his masters caught wind of that outrageous practice, he was called into the office and summarily dismissed by a frowzy middle-aged administrator who told him the jig was up while she danced around the room gleefully and around the desk of the Chairman, who buried his head in his hands, sadly, silently.


Eddie walked out of there, hopped on his bicycle. He had been training to hike the Annapurna circuit and was ready to go. He stopped by the SUB and withdrew all his money from the bank, then went over to Joe's Place and got good and drunk. When he walked in, the jukebox was playing Solsbury Hill, a song by Peter Gabriel.


Later that night, he fell alseep in a friend's back yard, was just lucky not to get rolled The next morning, he hauled his sorry ass over to a travel Agency by the Sunport and bought a one way ticket to Kathmandu. He sure as hell hoped it would work out this time.


Six month's later, when he returned for his mother's funeral, he ended up by taking a job delivering pizzas for Papa John's. The third delivery ticket he got was for an address in Nob Hill, at the house of the yellow haired gal. He took her the pizza anywho, though she just looked at Eddie vacantly and stiffed him on the tip.

A Note To Our Readers About the John Drake Project

Last night, at about nine in the evening, the official mascot of Things in Light, Rosie the Dog, died suddenly, following surgery for cancer. She was beloved by me and by Samantha. We had hoped for the best, but sometimes freedom from the flesh is the best one can hope for in this world.


She will be forever missed and held in our hearts and minds here, there, and everywhere.


Coincidentally, John Drake died with her. The reason for that is simple. Rosie inspired some damn fine reflection upon the past, and subsequently, some writing about that past taking place in Burque. We posted that output at our old stomping grounds.


Reading through the morning news, I note that a discussion on Duke City Fix mentions Drake. One commenter puts forth the proposition that we here at TiL were " ...just screwing with this site. One might even say he was trying to get even by "saving" Duke City Fix."


Nothing could be further from the truth. The John Drake project was sincere, folks. It was meant to be a way to disperse the grief of our household, a grief and shock that grew as we cared for a much-loved companion who was dying. That we chose an uncommon and gestural way to accomplish that goal may be unusual, but its roots in postmodernism are undeniable and just fine, by our standards.


There was never any attempt to save that other site. Nor was there any malice involved in its manifestation. We are not eccentrics or agitators. We are dadaists and artists. We have no grudge to bear or any illusion about our ability to revive any person, animal, or website, living or dead.


If our posts generated more traffic over there, then that is a good thing, but that was not our goal. Our goal was to embrace the spirit of an animal we really loved, to make her the star of something that is greater than any of us puny humans.


Certainly, we have issues with both the content and powers that be over there, and have made them clear over the time it has taken to create this successful and hep site that you are visiting now.


We do not seek fame or acknowledgment from the folks over there. Some of them were friends. We take our work seriously. But it also says a lot about DCF that the detractors and doubters have center stage, can say things that are just downright foolish, are poor judges of character, and intention.


The publishers of this blog are both published writers who have significant credentials, by the way. It seems hurtful and unkind to us that what we did has been misjudged as the work of people that wear "tin-foil hats".

But whatever. This site, those John Drake posts, the inspiration for it all came from our interaction with our dear friend and companion, Rosie.


The world is a rough place. We work for its betterment, without concern for ourselves. That's punk rock, sabes?

Recovery Cat 5.23.2012

Lunch with John Drake

By Rudolfo Carrillo


Well, folks, my old buddy from grad school, name of John Drake, appeared at my doorstep a couple hours ago to tell me about his latest adventure.


He had a bag full of burgers from McDonald's in his right hand and in his left carried the fearful scepter of Huitzilopochtli. Said he wanted to have lunch and did I fancy a Big Mac or a Quarter Pounder with cheese.


I told him to leave the snake stick on the porch, as one never knows what sort of deviltry might follow it in.


Speaking in grateful and hungry tones about how I preferred the secret sauce for which the former meat sangwich was famous,  Drake ambled in, set up some napkins at the coffee table and commenced to talking and taking chunks out of the Quarter Pounder with his big, toothsome mouth. I meanwhile traipsed into the kitchen and poured two awful strong cups of joe.


John went on and on about this and that before he settled on his discourse for the day. I told him that the burger was damn good but he just smiled mournfully and began rambling about a survey he was conducting.


It came out that Drake had been posting blogs on my old-timey place of residence, a cyber-location known to townies and carpetbaggers alike as Duke City Fix.


He knew it was decent writing but of course didn't match up with the fanciful mierda I had been known to generate whilst in the midst of any number of transdimensional dislocations for which I am notorious.


I let him have that point, as I reckon I am the poorest writer that ever was, and so don't give a good goddamn which way the wind blows around the stuff leaking out my computer terminal and onto the page.


He went on, sayin' more than a few, and probably a majority, liked what he was doing, but that he was troubled by those who couldn't cotton to what he had written. They told him stuff on the survey that was mean and angry, saying he was arrogant, narcissistic, egotistical,and didn't know what the hell he was doing.


When I finished the glorious meat sangwich that Drake had provided me free and clear, I gave some attention to his lament.


It went something like this.


Despite your best efforts, Mr. Drake, DCF continues to suffer from a plague of trolls, spammers, and miscreants who basically have free run of the place because there are no longer any committed moderators.


There are plenty of excellent folks over there though. Many of the posts and discussions are still thought-provoking, well-written and all of that. In fact, I told him, a couple of my Facebook friends use the site often and they are fine folks, to be sure. I really like the posts by that dude, Davis I think he is called, from over at Popejoy, and Ms. Cohen sure does take some pretty chido photos of the town.


Drake nearly choked on his cheeseburger when I said all that, and then intoned gravely:


Didn't they treat you like hell? Didn't they marginalize you and resort to questionable tactics when you, among all the other DCF advocates, administrators, and contributors, dissented on account of their unwise editorial and contributory policies?


Yes, I said, I reckon they did. After more than two years, the publisher and editor still treated me as a second-class citizen and an outsider; when I brought that fact up, those two, they acted outraged and claimed that I wanted to run the place, have it all to myself, or that I was really hunting around for vig. That was not just unkind, and untrue, I reminded Drake, it was the kinda bullshit  groupthink, that when practiced properly, practically assured their obsolescence in the Albuquerque electronic media scene.


That is why, in essence, I told them to go to hell.


The problem is, I continued, those folks running the DCF, and the trolls they let wander joyfully through their joint, get outta whack anytime they are challenged. The former see themselves as some sort of enlightened creative cult, while the latter, well, they just take advantage of the privileges granted by their masters. Mostly those are of a sort that disdains education and intellectuals, so seeing how your degree is from Brunel and all, you probably didn't stand a snowball's chance. You mostly gotta ignore those factors and factions, if you wanna keep on sending stuff to put up on their webpage.


Some of them really do believe they are the cat's meow, Drake managed, with a smirk.


Well, thats just fine too, says I. Maybe they are, in their world; you never know. But, speak up, I told him and don't stop. You are doing a good thing by standing up; plus which your writing is improving, too.  You ought to learn to love all of them, anywho, because they are human just like you and me.


By this time, Drake had gotten nervous and was eyballin' his watch. Suddenly, the secret agent jumped up, said something about an "Orange Alert" and shimmied out the front door.
I heard his Triumph TR-3 zoom off. I retired to my terminal to read his output and write this post.


Not bad for an Englishman, I told myself and the dogs, as my mouse pointer hovered poetically and electronically over John Drake's oeuvre.

Things in Light Podcast #19: Ersa Mix

Things in Light's nineteenth podcast, Ersa Mix, features recordings by the Grave of Nobody's Darling, Sad Baby Wolf, Venus Bogardus, Friends of Ya Ya Boom, North America, Tropical Girls, Leeches of Lore, Bigawatt, and A Hawk and A Hacksaw. See the full track listing below.

TiL #19: Ersa Mix from ϟ▲ϻ▲и✝ђ▲ ▲ииɇ on 8tracks.

1. the Grave of Nobody's Darling - Lake Havasu

2. Sad Baby Wolf - Everything Is (Neutral Milk Hotel cover)

3. Venus Bogardus - Dance-Collision [Chaz] 

4. Friends of Ya Ya Boom - Trash in the Grass (Trashio Postscript by Bud Melvin)

5. North America - Wet Dream

6. Tropical Girls feat. Glowhouse - Late Night

7. Leeches of Lore - Giant Sloth

8. Bigawatt - Anguria

9. A Hawk and A Hacksaw - Lujtha Lassu

ABQ MTV: Cactus Fractal

Things in Light is pleased to present the seventh installment of ABQ MTV.

► First, check out the new Leeches of Lore video for "Mountain Candy Rape," featuring an eye-catching mixture of live action footage and creative collage, cardboard signage, and puppetry. 



► Second, 1...2...and don't forget to breathe while watching Tropical Girls' manipulated found footage music video for "Exercise."





► Finally, zone out to Dan Gottwald's psychedelic video, "This is Natural," featuring the sounds of The Analogous Ensemble — played by Dan Gottwald with trombone accompaniment by Christian Pincock.

Things in Light Podcast #18: Tarantula Mix

Things in Light's eighteenth podcast, Tarantula Mix, features recordings by The Drags, Leeches of Lore, Venus Bogardus, Mrdrbrd, These Charming Cobras, Austin Morrell & the Alchemists, Trilobite, Mono-Stereo, and Vomit the Void Volume. See the full track listing below.

 

TiL #18: Tarantula Mix from ϟ▲ϻ▲и✝ђ▲ ▲ииɇ on 8tracks.

1. The Drags - Tarantula

2. Leeches of Lore - That Old Brain Rapin' Highway

3. Venus Bogardus - Analog Underground

4. Mrdrbrd - We Want You Dead 

5. These Charming Cobras - Tarantula

6. Austin Morrell & The Alchemists - Damaged Goods

7. Trilobite - Silver Skin

8. Mono-Stereo - Nogiziaketak

9. Vomit the Void Volume - Until the Wind Doesn't Know Me

ABQ MTV: From the '80s

Things in Light is pleased to present the sixth installment of ABQ MTV.

► First up, check out the funky sorta art rock-slash-new wave sound of Taos-based band The Refrigerators, performing "Dawn Patrol" in 1981.




► Second, indulge in the prog-funk stylings of The Wet Sox, performing "DDD & E" in 1981, as well.




► Third, here's a short film by Alan Swain called Kitchen Parties. It introduces the viewer to authentic Burque '80s house party culture via documentary footage and Albuquerque streetscapes — including one scene that features the notoriously greasy Vip's Big Boy. Soundtrack by Jerry's Kidz.




►The final entry in this installment isn't technically a music video, but es lo más chingón, so we had to we had include it — Treadmill's cover of Peter Gabriel's "Shock the Monkey."

Things in Light Podcast #17: Eclipse Mix

The above image was chosen for its humorous value, but the invasion of miller moths currently underway in our neck of the woods is somewhat discomfiting. I've been trying to figure out why the vulnerable seekers of light trapped in my abode — and the eclipses of them in the great outdoors! — are freaking me out; perhaps the "eek" factor I experience when brushing up against these transformed army cutworms reflects my queasiness about my own insatiable hunger for, well, it. In the process of trying to make peace with these harmless creatures, I made a playlist of moth-themed songs to aid in my meditative endeavor.

Things in Light's seventeenth podcast, Eclipse Mix, features tracks by Faun Fables, Cocteau Twins, Stereolab, Burial + Four Tet, Current 93, Aimee Mann, The Flaming Lips, and They Might Be Giants. See the full track listing below.

TiL #17: Eclipse Mix from ϟ▲ϻ▲и✝ђ▲ ▲ииɇ on 8tracks.

1. Faun Fables - Moth
2. Cocteau Twins - When Mama Was Moth
3. Stereolab - Space Moth
4. Burial + Four Tet - Moth
5. Current 93 - Judas as Black Moth
6. Aimee Mann - The Moth
7. The Flaming Lips - Moth in the Incubator
8. They Might Be Giants - Bee of the Bird of the Moth

Things in Light Podcast #16: Samsara Mix

Things in Light's sixteenth podcast, Samsara Mix, features recordings by The Grave of Nobody's Darling, Shoulder Voices, The Porter Draw, A Hawk and A Hacksaw, North America, Discotays, Javelina, and Trilobite. See the full track listing below.

TiL #16: Samsara Mix from ϟ▲ϻ▲и✝ђ▲ ▲ииɇ on 8tracks.

1. The Grave of Nobody's Darling - Nine Days and Nights
2. Shoulder Voices - Good Karma
3. The Porter Draw - Davey
4. A Hawk and A Hacksaw - No Rest for the Wicked
5. North America - Hayley's Ghost
6. Discotays - For Liz
7. Javelina - Nicolas
8. Trilobite - Samsara