I’ve known Roberto for a few years via a mutual friend and as such I knew some of his wonderful qualities, but until recently was totally unaware of the depth of his musical artistry.
Exhibit A is his performance of Loro, composed by Egberto Gismonti.
How does one get iPhone control thingy (start, stop, skip) added to a set of cans?
I now cheerfully respond to all solicitations, telemarketers or otherwise, with “You sound awfully nice and sincere, but because you might actually be the NSA, I am uncomfortable speaking with you.”
Our beloved Roku SoundBridge has ceased to function. After seven years of service tuning into SomFM, otherwise unreachable radio stations and our iTunes library, it emits neither light nor sound.
It turns out, the thing is beautiful inside. Constructed like double-ended Pringle’s can. Pop the ends off and it’s inner shell slides out of the aluminum tube.
Splitting the clamshell exposes a single circuit board.
Notice the how the primary circuits are completely encased in a shield? This unit was unaffected by nearby cell phones, the microwave oven or other radiation sources. Which is pretty amazing because I don’t think things like 3G phones were invented when this was made.
Fortunately, there is EBay and it’s vintage replacement is on it’s way.
Marshall wrote “Cross Bones Style,” along with five other songs from Moon Pix, one night in the fall of 1997, after awaking from a hallucinatory nightmare while alone in the South Carolina farmhouse she shared with then-boyfriend, Bill Callahan. “My nightmare was surrounding my house like a tornado,” she explained. “So I just ran and got my guitar because I was trying to distract myself. I had to turn on the lights and sing to God. I got a tape recorder and recorded the next sixty minutes. And I played these long changes, into six different songs. That’s where I got the record.”
Why am I writing about Philip Kaplan? Pud founded AdBrite and Fucked Company. In retrospect, Fucked Company may have best thing I ever experienced on the internet (perhaps except for 4chan, about which I cannot and shall not comment). This is perhaps astounding because FC was nothing like the internet of today.
FC was all text.
Were such a forum to exist today, one might exclaim: “Fucked Company is the well-spring of tomorrow’s poetry, yet also the definitive locus of the internet’s largest anarchist cesspool.” A bizarre prototypical social network. I spent what seems like a lifetime reading FC during its brief existence, whose era was pre-Y2k to post 9-11. The “Happy-Fun-Slander” board, purportedly authored by vetted employees, was a momentum trader’s wet dream. I found my tribe among the free-for-all non-elite mosh-pits – a treasure-trove of unbounded raw emotion. The rumor was many comics and writers both tested and gathered material from the message boards there. When Pud finally shut it down (there were tears, lawsuits, and worse), I asked him if it’d be possible to curate a Best-Of book. I don’t think anything was ever re-constituted from its ashes, though Pud did sell a book about the experience of running the joint.
To be clear: FC was the antithesis of web properties today – anonymity was essential to its existence. As such, it was an elaborate sock puppet theater whose sophistication has not been replicated in the transparent, post-Facebook era. The only openly verified in-real-life FC persona was Pud.
Cut to today. I just asked Pud about his newest venture, Fandalism. I told him I’m a fan and I loved the concept, but I’d like to talk about what happens after the “dates” hook up .. ya know: getting tabs, rehearsal schedules, lyrics, finding the right key signature for the singer, remembering your unique arrangement, and so on.
If something wonderful results, I’ll let you know, but I feel very confident about approaching the domain defined by the intersection of “practical technology” and “musical practice”.
- 2002 BBC interview with Pud behind his drum kit talking about the early internet (including FC) .. after he finds out they’ve been taping for an hour, he starts playing (nice chops there!)