pix from this weekend

Hey MundaneMark devoteez! Here are two quick snapshots from my tribute show this weekend.

Hope you enjoy.

the genius of kiss lyrics

The discussion of Neil Peart/Rush lyrics on my wife Sarah's blog made me think of a similar subject.

Let me start out by saying that I'm a fan of Rush -- and of Kiss, obviously. As far as Rush goes, though, I think even those of us who liked their lyrics as youngsters eventually have to look back at that period as one of -- to be euphemistic -- "development." The pseudo-intellectual aspirations possess a certain charm, I suppose, in retrospect -- but damn those lyrics are over the top and silly in their loftiness.

On the other end of the spectrum, there's Kiss, whose lyrics can be seen as equally bad in the other direction -- with one caveat, though -- Kiss really (I think usually) did not pretend to intellectual depth (except on the Elder -- dear God....even Lou Reed's contributions sucked on that -- actually, Kiss's lyrics overall are better than what he wrote for them). Kiss lyrics, however, are more than just vapid. They're bizarre and -- I would argue -- strangely brilliant in their utter emptiness. Who could write lyrics so lacking in specificity or in any kind of thought? Here are some examples:

Baby gets tired
Everybody knows
Your mama tells you
Baby has to show
Yeah yeah, Let me go!

What the hell does that mean? For one thing, I submit that the odd syntax here (even for a rock song) evidence of Gene Simmons' lingering non-standard knowledge of English (he didn't start learning it until he was 8).

How about this?

She's a dancer, a romancer
I'm a capricorn and she's a cancer
She saw my picture in a music magazine

I'm a man, I'm no baby
And you're lookin' every inch a lady
You're good lookin' and you're lookin' like you should be good

Baby baby don't you hesitate 'cause I just can't wait.

It's so full of pointless empty info -- and even tautology. Now, it's easy -- and basically right -- to say that Kiss lyrics are just dumb filler. But they're SO GOOD at being dumb filler and they're so memorable as dumb filler that they start to seem kind of, well, perfect. I think Kiss is the perfect realization of a rock band with absolutely NO substance -- pure, relentless IMAGE -- a simulacram par excellance -- no pretense to anything behind the makeup. It's ALL mediation.

And that's what makes them -- in some ways -- my vote for the greatest rock band ever. Of course, if your criterion is that a great rock band has to have substance (which is a legimitate criterion) then Kiss fails utterly. I'm of two minds myself -- but I'm so drawn to the emptiness, an emptiness that SEEMS to gesture towards something but refuses to, of Kiss.

Plus, they have some cool riffs.

some references to masters of mundanity

Michael's reference to Neruda's poem on socks (which I'd LOVE to read -- did I understand you rightly Michael?) has made me think of other great writers on the mundane.

As far as Romantic poets go, it seems easy to point to Wordsworth as fascinated by the mundane -- the way in he tries in his Lyrical Ballads to focus intently on ordinary objects and describe them in "the language really used by men." However, Wordsworth -- if I can generalize -- focuses on the ordinary to find the extraordinary within it, many would say with often ridiculous results (see "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud," the poem about daffodils -- I like it, but it's not one of my favorites, and certainly can read pretty silly).

Though I still love the Romantics, my more recent readings have led me to appreciate more writing outside that tradition. One of my favorite reading experiences recently involved the Japanese essayist Tanazaki (I think that's his name) -- his "In Praise of Shadows," which (no suprise for my readers) devotes a LOT of time to describing old-fashioned Japanese toilets, contrasting them with the cold, well-lit sterility of western facilities. I won't say any more, but this is a wonderful essay to which I can't do justice. I know my description may make it sound funny, but it's a truly beautiful and moving essay -- one that moves from the most mundane particulars to profound reflections on cultural divisions -- and does so seamlessly.

I think someone could make an argument that Virginia Woolf is the greatest prose artist in English (and one of the few writers who I think is pretty much smarter than all her critics -- some others I see this way are Henry James and Lord Byron -- I don't know enough about him, but I have similar feeling when I read James Baldwin; I'm sure there are others if anyone wants to share) -- though it depends on what criteria you use. Anyway, her essay "Street Haunting" about going out to buy a pencil is another truly astounding meditation on the (seemingly) mundane.

Finally, I recently discovered G. K. Chesterton's essays, specifically his collection Tremendous Trifles," in which all of the essays are about the mystical lurking within the familiar -- maybe this is more within a kind of Romantic tradition, but Chesterton was an orthodox Christian and ultimately an orthodox Catholic. I don't know too much esle about him, but I love essays like "A Piece of Chalk" and another one on chasing his hat down the street.

BUT, the true master of the mundane in my view is Wesley Willis -- especially the song "Northwest Airlines."

libby lewis/lewis libby?

I don't know if the names in the title are properly spelled or not. In any case, the other night I was listening to NPR in my car, and I heard a story about the upcoming trial of Cheney's right hand guy Lewis "Scooter" Libb(e)y. Now, Scooter's first name is the subject of some debate -- I've heard Lewis, Irv, Irving -- among others. Anway, I'm pretty sure Lewis is in his name somewhere.

The strange thing, though, is that the NPR reporter presenting the story was a woman named Libby Lewis. When they introduced her, I thought, "My mind must have supplied that information; it was some kind of Freudian parapraxys or slip of the ear." But, sure enough, when the story ended, the reporter said very clearly, "Libby Lewis reporting."

I think there was a Jesuit who taught at my high school named Lewis Libby. I think he went by "Chip." He was very nice. On a retreat he played a recording of the song "I Can See Clearly Now The Rain is Gone" to inspire us. That's a great song; it's almost as good as "Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey.

Whether you know it or not, kind Blogreader, you like Journey. You might think you don't, but you do. (Sarah, I know you would agree with me.) You also like Dolly Parton and Charo (and not for their physical characteristics, but for their music and personality). And "Come Sail Away" by Styx, though not necessarily "Too Much Time on My Hands."

new interests develop as I age

I find that as I grow older, the more interested I am in the mundane. For example, here's what I was interested in when I was, say, 20:

literature, music, the opacity of language, the existence or non-existence of God, whether the Romantics were truly greater than the Classicists, whether Milton had read the Kaballah, the exact relationship between Keats's Hyperion poems and Miltonic poetry, the relationship between rock music and Romantic aesthetics.

Here are topics that are of more interest to me now:

the sweet smell of soap, heart-healthy oatmeal, socks, really really comfortable socks, telephone surveys, more socks, getting a good deal on shoes, the possibility of owning a minivan

Yet I feel that my interests are in fact DEEPER and more profound today. I think all that art and philosophy stuff -- the way I thought about it at 20 at least -- was kind of cliche and superficial. What really matters more in the world -- what Percy Shelley felt about marriage or whether or not people are warm and comfortable and have enough to eat? And my really comfortable socks?

Absence and Almond Cans

Dear Blogreaders/Fans of the Mundane:

I've been absent from my blog for sometime, as I've been consumed with work responsibilities. Those responsibilities have been profoundly mundane: I have had to arrange travel for visiting job candidates, make sure said candidates eat, etc. All of these mundane tasks have been extremely confusing and stressful.

I have three empty almond cans in my office. Two are stacked awkwardly. I should recycle them (though where on campus I should drop them off is unclear -- I guess in the soda can recycling recepticles).

But the almond cans look like they should be used for something -- storing paper clips or binder clips, or perhaps pipe tobacco (I can't smoke in my office, and I don't really smoke anyway, though I have some pipes and tobacco). I suspect that these cans will sit on my desk for many years along with the dirty coffee cups and old papers.