Hotline Bling

As I wrote in my review of Courtney Barnett for The Rumpus last summer, I’m not really up on the new music, the hip things the kids are listening to these days. They ought, quite honestly, get off my lawn, if I had a lawn, which I don't, as I'm part of a dying middle class that will likely never own a home or land. Anyways, to be fair, I wasn’t up on what was new when I was 16 either (and still became a Radiohead fan somehow) so it’s not like I’m doing anything new here in my early 30s. For the record, Matchbox 20 still seems lame to me, though some artists I used to dislike are better than others. When I was 16, it should be said, I was getting into Dylan and whatever stuff was already old at that point so really I’ve always been behind, always uninterested in what is being produced at the moment. This is not the case for poetry for some reason, where I do gravitate towards "new," probably out of some concern for generally falling behind in an industry where I have never been the hippest guy around and probably won't be as my career moves, dare I say it, "forward."

I was behind, speaking of, on the fairly recent...whatever...about Drake’s Hotline Bling video. I don’t know Drake. I mean, I know of Drake, in that I had heard of him before, but I don’t know his music. I’m not against Drake, you understand, or even against whatever genre of music he’s making (maybe we don't even need to define it beyond saying it's what's happening—or maybe it's not what's happening now and I really have no idea what's going on in contemporary music), I just don’t know anything about it or him. I don't know what he was famous for before I heard Hotline Bling, for example, and until someone tells me, I'll live in ignorance. In fact, when someone does tell me, I'll likely react with a "huh." Regardless, Jenn sent me whatever cut up thing people do wherein it looks like President Obama is singing Drake’s song (well more like Sprechgesang with autotune):

This led me down the inevitable path of watching Drake’s video for Hotline Bling. It’s kind of an interesting video, though I did hear that some people were kind of upset about the video, specifically Drake’s dancing and the usage of lights and spaces.

Falling asleep the other night (where this blog post idea came from and was promised to Jenn), I felt that the song was about the singer feeling boxed in and the video represents that. But it’s more than that: the video represents the modern relationship, something simultaneously attempting to exist without definition but also suffering from a lack of boundaries thanks to modern technology. Space that would have previous defined a less serious relationship is now replaced with the ability to text and call quickly. There is no “space,” per say, while at the same time the lack of a definition has led to the seemingly ubiquitous term “hooking up.”

The singer here is trapped between these two understandings, a paradox of sorts: their relationship is not a real thing because there is no true intimacy but their relationship is real because they are able to contact one another and be in rapid touch regardless of distance or time, things that traditionally did keep relationships defined by certain parameters.

I don’t really know much about dance but I almost feel like Drake is moving around like a marionette, guided by strings to do the things he is supposed to do within the confines of the boxes he must remain inside of. I am still perplexed by the stairs, but I might come back to them at some point.

The song has marginally grown on me though not in the same other things have in 2015. Indeed, I am more bothered by other’s feeling Drake has been in a bad video than I am intrigued by the song itself. I think there’s a lot more going on in the video than immediately catches one. Or maybe I’m just reading into it too much but I hope not.

Review of Joseph P. Wood's Broken Cage in Sink Review

My review of Wood's Broken Cage, available from Brooklyn Arts Press, is in the new Sink Review.

On The Brussels Affair and a new poem

A longer and more...awesome...version of what was posted here. Also comes with a new poem, "Black Market Baby."

http://coldfrontmag.com/poets-off-poetry/the-rolling-stones-the-brussels-affair-by-amish-trivedi

The Rolling Stones' Brussels Affair

OK, so I don't update the blog. Maybe I have just been looking for the right  thing to write about.

I've been listening to The Rolling Stones' Brussels Affair, a live album recorded during their 1973 European tour. The album captures the middle of my favorite era of the Stones: the one that has Mick Taylor in it. Taylor is awesome. He's a great guitarist and his playing really pushes up the rest of the band's playing with him. This nothing against Ronnie Wood, who is talented in his own way, it's just that Mick is Mick and far superior to most guitarists.

The only thing I can say about Brussels Affair is that it's sweaty. It's the tour for the Stones' most decadent album, Goats Head Soup, and the album feels that way too. It's hot on stage. Keith is a little pale because he's been inside shooting up and Mick's been practicing his dance moves. Who cares what they are doing: the excess is just right and it comes through on stage. When Keith sings "Happy," it's tarnished with their decadence and he hardly sounds happy but it's so good you kind of don't care what it's doing to his body or if he's going to get arrested or die or anything else. Heck, not caring is taken to a new level during this period and the Stones are the embodiment of that in your headphones.

The song choice is great but of course there are songs they could have picked (I feel like "Bitch" or "Can You Hear Me Knockin'" from Sticky Fingers would have fit). The songs they did pick are the ones where you can see in your mind Mick strutting across stage and bending down to belt the lyrics right into the face of some kid who's there to hear "Satisfaction." Well, there is no satisfaction here because there is never enough, which is what decadence is all about: never getting enough of feeling this good. In Mick's case, it seems like it was his looks. He can't get enough of himself.  Keith couldn't get enough of the needle, but that's ok because he managed to not become a casualty. Keith danced with Mr. D and lived to tell the tale. Rare, certainly.

Are there better live albums? Yeah, Dylan's Live '66 is pretty amazing, but it is amazing for the same reason this is: that was Dylan at his height, at the point where his performing and recording were at their very best. Brussels Affair is the Stones at their absolutely pinnacle, the years in which they became the best band in the world. There's a moment that had to be captured in the life of this band and the album gets it perfectly. I'd do nearly anything to go back in time and see this show live in my tight pants with my hair long and matted from sweat.

Review on Jacket2

My review of Craig Santos Perez's from unincorporated territory [saina] at Jacket2, Explorers, anthropologists, and historians