An anecdotal thought based on comments made by Robert Wright, by way of Rob Haggart (whose blog you really SHOULD be reading, even if discussions of signal-to-noise ratio lead to moments of doubt).

I was basically told during the Photo 101 phase of my schooling that the professors had 'seen it all -- empty swings, pictures of pouty friends, and the roll of film taken in your dorm room an hour before class,' and that 'those things are OK, we aren't going to judge you on that content, and you need to get them out of your system so you can go on and do REAL work.'

To this end, Robert Wright writes,

...The confluence of technologies of digital photography, the www for sharing, a boom in consumer credit allowing amateurs to purchase gear that only professionals would have bothered with in the analogue days, all of this has brought an unprecedented number of photographers into the arena at exactly the same time and often at the same phase, that early discovery phase that used to go by fairly unnoticed in art schools around the country.

It's true that you're always trying to grow through your work, but at the same time I like to think I managed to have my most larval development out of the public eye. Those pictures are embarrassing.

We Go On After Some Lip-Synch Chicks.

So I think I might put a moratorium on covering Battles of the Bands, not just because we need to think of peace in these troubled times, but because they are no less weird than they were when I was a misguided youth. Disparate acts, three song limits, a harried and hurried pace that serves no one (least of all the showcase bands) and varying qualities of M'sC succeed in keeping everyone off balance and looking for the exits once their friends' sets are done.



Frankly, this particular BoB was doubly confounding, mostly due to the latter awards giving-portion of the show where the majority of gifts and trinkets (Golden records?! Pieces of paper!?) seemed to be given to the A&R, MGMT side of the production rather than to the bands themselves. This brings me back to my original confusion with the Blast:Beat program and where the money goes, where the money lies once it gets there, and who OWNS the bands' music and who ultimately runs the promotion -- something that their website never cleared up. If I remember properly, my fwiends over at Only The Blog Knows Brooklyn described it as seeming like a '4-H Club for kids in bands,' a criticism which seems valid sonically -- meant literally, "as I say it in my head it makes me laugh" -- as well as in practice.



Stream of thought bulletin: While poking around the internet we arrive at Blastspace.com, the ground-level Facebookian arm of the BlastBeat.org website. PLEASE LOOK AT THE UPPER RIGHT BUTTON WHICH FEATURES "COCA-COLA BLASTBEAT." I ain't sayin' there's something sinister going on, but this...



...should be enough to remind anyone of the awful Coca-Cola budding filmmaker commercials they show at the movie theaters during "The 20" or whatever the fuck it's called. It should remind the oldsters of Up With People being sponsored by Gilette. It should definitely make any self-respecting punk give pause.



It occurred to me, and I said as much to Hugh Crawford, that the history of Rock Music is written by the bands whose gumption and spit determined their destiny rather than the whims or skull scratching decisions made by talent fair judges. In fact, the only two acts I could think of at the time were Stevie Wonder and James Brown, and a suspicious search of Wikipedia (sue me) quickly showed those examples to be wrong. Now, the only one I can think of is Kelly Clarkson (sue me).

Creepy Corporate Overlording aside, all of this is the ball-hording way of saying "so what?" Yes, a trip to Ireland would be a major, life altering experience for a group of teens who might not have had the privilege of traveling outside the United States, and seeing the competition might inspire even greater things from those involved but the failure to make the trip in this particular instance isn't in the ballpark of worst things to happen. The Sub-20's music scene in New York (you can call it "Kidcore" if you want, but that's bogus and sad) is too dense and rich -- and too competitive and talented -- to hold anything less than the best the age bracket/genre can provide and by extension... you know what Sinatra said. Further, the support group of enthusiastic Post-Teen bands whose song structure and public attitude implies reckless juvenilization is there to lead the way and provide access, instruction and perhaps most importantly, a valuable crossover audience:

An audience with money.

This is meant as consolation to all the bands that lost, whatever form they took. My favorites included.

The First Of Three Candy Reviews

INT. MOVIE THEATER, NIGHT.

Richard and Dom wait in their SEATS for "The Darjeeling Limited" to begin. Richard reaches into his AWESOME BLACK BAG to produce THREE CANDY BARS of mysterious origin.

(dramatically)
RICH: I told you I was bringing snacks, so I have three candies to choose from. I brought them from Sweden.
(handing them one by one to Dom)
We have "Daim"...

(excited)
DOM: DAAAAAAAAAIM!

RICH: Exactly. We have "Plopp"...

(laughing)
DOM: Delicious.

RICH: Precisely. And we have "Japp"...

(slowly)
DOM: Oh. My. God.

RICH: Yeah that one's a personal favorite. Anyway, you choose which one we are to review.

(thoughtfully)
DOM: Let's go with "Daim."

RICH: Great. Looking at the wrapper now,
(gesturing to the label)
and judging by the explode-y bits coming from behind the lettering it seems like it's a toffee of some sort.

She picks up the candy bar and examines it more closely.

DOM: You're probably right. Looking at the wrapper now it also seems to be made by the good people at the KRAFT company.

(deflated)
RICH: What?

(pointing to the BOLD KRAFT LABEL on the back)
DOM: See.

RICH: So I brought a KRAFT-brand candy bar all the way from Sweden?

DOM: Apparently.

(dejectedly)
RICH: Jesus H. Christ on the cross...

DOM: Which are the candy bars with the toffee in them?

RICH: Heath Bars...

DOM: No, no, the other ones...

RICH: Skoal... no, that's the tobacco. Um... Scor!

DOM: Yeah! I bet it's like that.

She begins to rip open the wrapper and pauses.

DOM: Oh, are we saving the wrapper?

RICH: No, I shot them all already.

(continuing to open the wrapper)
DOM: Oh good.

They crack the bar into smaller segments for sharing and easy-eating. They both taste. The toffee is crisp and pleasantly caramel while the milk chocolate coating is gritty and unextraordinary. A serviceable candy bar.

RICH: So it's almost exactly like a Heath Bar.

DOM: Or a Skoal...

RICH: Skor...

DOM: Skor Bar...

RICH: They all taste the same.

DOM: Yeah. Yeah, they do.

RICH: Well this is a letdown.

DOM: It's good though!

RICH: It's pretty good. Heath Bars are my favorite.
(pausing)
Chocolate's a bit "bleh" though.

DOM: (nods)

(to himself)
RICH: The chocolate might have melted here or there because of transit though.

The LIGHTS in the theater begin to dim and the other MOVIEGOERS begin to hush each other and buckle down for viewing

DOM: Movie's starting.

END