Posts Tagged ‘beatles’

Supergroups Of The Future

Monday, March 30th, 2009

I found this over on BoingBoing and I know it’s just an ad for BBC Radio but it caught it my eye for a number of reasons.

Wouldn’t it just be so fucking cool if we had a time machine and could pull a Bill & Ted by bringing together collections of the best talents (in any field, not just music) to create collaborations we could only dream of in our lesser techno-magically enabled reality. Who doesn’t want to trip back to New York before December 1980 and get John to go with Paul for a surprise visit to SNL?

Alas, we don’t have time travel – we just have really fucking cool computer tech. To paraphrase the Six Million Dollar Man intro “We have the technology, let’s abuse it.” We might not be able to draw together these performers in the flesh but we can certainly render digital compilations which can, at the very least, give us a glimpse of what might have been. Harking back to the Beatles once more, they did something similar in 1995 by working together again on Free As A Bird, blending the voices of the still extant Fab with the departed John, courtesy of the ministrations of Jeff Lynne.

I recall in the late ’70′s a bootleg tape came out that had Elvis Presley and Linda Rondstadt singing a duet of Love Me Tender. It sounded great. It was wonderous. It was magical. The problem was, if I recall correctly, it was made from the masters of their original recordings without permission for public release – as a demonstration of what the new emerging recording technologies could do with control over pitch and timing of audio recordings. I heard on Q107 here in Toronto over a period of 2 days before it was yanked.

Since then such things have become old hat. We’ve had Natalie Cole sing duets with her father Nat King Cole; Bono, Robbie Williams and a host of others singing along with Frank Sinatra; and a whole lot more.

As I said, it’s not just limited to music. Famous actors, long dead and gone, are still turning in performances on the screen. Oliver Reed and Brandon Lee each finished their film work after dying during production. Laurence Olivier turned up as the villain Professor Totenkopf in Sky Captain. Humphrey Bogart and Alfred Hitchcock showed up for Robert Zemekis in an episode of Tales From The Crypt.

This sort of shit goes on all the time now.

It’s a far cry from the flurry of excitement elicited over the 1969 release of The Masked Marauders. Yeah – it wasn’t really them – but I still love that album and I play it on my iPod, thank you very fucking much. And it was a great idea.

I was struck many years ago when watching the AFI honours for Henry Fonda when they showed the obligatory montage at the height of the evening, running through clips from all his onscreen performances – and you saw a young man grow up in front of your eyes. Fuck off, Benjamin Button, this was the real deal. A life in time captured in images.

The memory of human beings is a changed thing as a result of recording technologies. We have become very different creatures from what we once were.

As our tech evolves with us – and becomes increasingly a part of us – we will change even further. We may never achieve the immortality sought within the shrouded mysteries of Kurzweil’s Singularity – but our perception of time and life and death itself will be forever altered as we continue to step back in time or draw the past into our present as if the formerly impenetrable veil of time was forever rent and we were physically capable of stepping with ease from thence to hence.

It’s not time travel – but it’s pretty fucking close – and you just know the music will rock.

Cheers.

Anything That You Want

Thursday, March 5th, 2009

As I’m ploughing through my various tasks to get my new shit happening, I’ve had to reorganize a bunch of hard drives to make space for rendering and storage and other arcane and bothersome fucking nonsense – and during those travails (which are minor in the world scale scope of things, I know) I came across this video.

It’s me and my son, Henry, farting around in front of a web cam. It was shot quite a while ago. He’s five years old. I’m forty guhzillion five hundred and three or something. We’re singing. He’s more interested in seeing his delayed and blurry hands move about on the monitor. I’m more interested in kissing his sweet little jelly bean head. Just a moment of gratuitous sillyness and joy.

I spent this morning shaving the face of a dog puppet.

There is a point to all of this.

I’ve had my head down, focused on my plans and schemes and dreams. I’ve been busy. My missus is busy with her studies and building shit for me and doing all those things that inevitably get handed to women while slobs like me stumble through life proclaiming their artistic intent whilst swilling beer.

I’m good at what I do.

Henry has been home sick, yesterday and today, from school with a bad cold. Having him around while we work is an opportunity to see him outside of the routine of day-to-day existence. He’s twelve years old now. He’ll be a teenager this summer. He’s a whimsical, solemn, intelligent, goofy, thoughtful, young man and child. He’s a good looking kid with a razor sharp wit.

And he’s old enough to start looking at his parents sideways.

That’s what I did at his age.

You see them, your parents, from a different angle. Sometimes from a distance. An acrostic view. You see their flaws and foibles and quirks and weaknesses. You see their humanity.

So, there I am – shaving the face of a dog puppet. In the bathroom. There’s clumps of grey fuzz all over the place. There’s clumps of grey fuzz all over me. I’m wielding an electric razor and grinding it against the face of a cute dog puppet. Henry arrives at the bathroom door, wiping his nose, and watches me in the mirror. I catch his gaze. Studying. I look in the mirror and see what he sees.

Any pretense or assumption of authority dissolves.

I look back to Henry. He wipes his nose again, smiles, and says: “You like what you do, don’t you, Dad?”

“Sometimes.”, I admit.

“It shows.”, he says, and wanders off down the hall.

I look in the mirror again to see what it is exactly that shows.

I see a fifty guhzillion one hundred and twelveteen something year old, balding, overweight, worn out artist – covered in a shifting haze of grey fuzz, like a soft focus Pig Pen – holding a clenched ball of abused fabric and an appliance that would probably get confiscated from my carry-on baggage at the airport.

What does he see?

I’m seeing him differently these days as he grows and matures and emerges as a human being of his own creation. But I will always and forever be holding him in my arms, sitting on my lap, singing and laughing together. I used to be a producer and a writer and a puppeteer. Then I became a Dad. I’m getting back into the other stuff but I will always be a Dad.

Yeah – I like what I do.

Cheers.