Why Dance Music Is Smart

I got into an arguement with my friend Robby about something I said in my last blog thingy about why I don't dance. (I think I said dance music sucked.) She went on and on, basically defending dance music. I tuned most of it out, actually.

But as she was talking, it occurred to me that what dance music has going for it -- even the worst dance music -- is its ever-present beat (turned way, way, way up in the mix). EVERY dance song does that one thing, consistently. It's reliable. You can count on it. It never forgets its central mission: ass shaking.

Even if a dance song utterly fails in every other aspect of music -- originality, lyric, melody, instrumentation, arrangement -- it never forgets why it came here. If you saw it on break in the employee lounge, here's what it would say: "I might suck, but you can still dance to me. I know my job, pal. Hey, you gonna eat that?"

It didn't even get clever with its name. It's called "dance music", just in case you forget what you're supposed to do when you hear it. (I know the bike messenger class likes to call it "electronica" or "electro", but that's just a transparent attempt at trying to dress up a pig with elitist rhetoric, now isn't it? Like calling Miller "The Champagne of Beers". Not buyin' it.)

So while Robby kept trying to get me to take dance music seriously, I started thinking about other genres... Maybe they should take a hint from dance music and figure out their critical purpose, their raison d'etre, and then focus like a Republican attack ad until they build a subculture around it that people can count on. And hate.

Here are some suggestions, for discussion purposes only:

COUNTRY MUSIC
Country music could be renamed "Welding music". It could even include instructions for how to weld, mixed REALLY LOUD up front next to Kenny Chesney's, um, vocal... TIG, MIG, Fluxed-Core, Gas Tungsten, Arc Welding. There's a lot to learn. Then, when we heard Welding Music, we could say, "It sure does suck, but at least I'm learning to weld!"

FOLK MUSIC
Folk music could be renamed "Bicycle repair music"... You'd hear people in coffee shops saying, "Jesus, that folk singer is one whiny bitch, but at least I learned how to lube my chain."

INDIE ROCK
Indie Rock (huh?) would probably need to be renamed "Self-esteem booster music"... Folks would put down their PBR and say, "I totally have a fucking head-ache, but I'm pretty sure that I'm cooler than you!" (Wait a minute... they already do that, right?)

JAZZ
Jazz could be renamed... actually, I think it should still be named Jazz.

But you get my point, no? There are so many mission-less genres. They're waiting for a little leadership... a little direction. Can you give it to them? Will you give it to them?

We're waiting.

New (old) song

the fall

jack was a good boy
he did what he was told
and the boy grew up
and he moved right in to that typical suburban mold

he was climbing that crazy mountain
like they tell you to in the book
and he ignored the rattle
that kept getting louder with every step he took

they told him to stand tall
and then they told him to crawl
just don't buck the system boy
or you'll bleed
now he's so scared of falling
he doesn't know it's the fall he needs

jack's mind is getting crowded
and his face is getting lined
and the voices he heard
that he thought were absurd are making more sense every time

one gray and rainy morning
while climbing the mountain side
jacky boy snapped
he skipped the trap, he let go and fell for the first time

they told him to stand tall
and then they told him to crawl
just don't buck the system boy
or you'll bleed
now he's smiling and falling
it's the fall he knew he needed

instrumental

the gray hairs are comin'
and a hole filled with lye
but no box could hold
jack's pearly white soul when he falls for the very last time…

they told him to stand tall
and then they told him to crawl
just don't buck the system boy or you'll bleed
now he's finally falling
it's the fall he knew he needed

It's hot.

BEFORE MY RUN:



AFTER MY RUN:

Triathlon Update: T Minus 25 Days

First of all, I don't think anyone reads this blog other than perhaps my father and two brothers. But I have these persistent delusions of writing grandeur, so I'm gonna pretend like my readership is both numerous and interested.

...

It's 25 days until my first Olympic distance triathlon. I've been training consistently (for the most part) for months. And I've been training, what feels like to me at least, pretty darn hard for the past several weeks... about 2 hours a day. You know... swimming, biking, running, core workouts, even some weights when I can sneak them in. (This commitment, by the way, is nothing but a warm up to real triathletes.) You may recall from my previous triathlon update, I have been experiencing some amount of angst about my upcoming race. I think the term I used was "suffer fest".

However, all of this effort from yours truly has led to a significant reduction in my terror threat level. If I may borrow from our government's simplistic terror advisory system:



I am proud to announce that my triathlon terror level has been reduced from SEVERE (red: a severe risk of an embarrassing flame out) to HIGH (orange: a high risk of an embarrassing flame out).

Further, I am ready to cautiously predict that by race day, August 16th, my terror level will be reduced to ELEVATED (yellow: an elevated risk of an embarrassing flame out). This will only hold true if I keep my sweaty nose to the workout grindstone.

However, please keep in mind that at any point situations may change on the ground and/or in the air that may call for a rapid increase in the threat level. We'll just have to stay vigilant, keep our eyes open, and put our faith in our higher power.

In the meantime, I'd like to make a time prediction. This is usually a bad idea... predicting one's race time -- throwing down the gauntlet with such precision. But here goes:

1500 meter swim: 42 minutes
transition one: 4 minutes
24.8 mile bike: 1 hour, 32 minutes
transition two: 4 minutes (predicting a port-o-let stop to pee right about here)
6.2 mile run: 1 hour, 23 minutes

Total time: an underwhelming 3 hours, 45 minutes

There you have it. Place your bets. I'm tired... I'm gonna hit the rack now.

7 Reasons Why I Don't Dance (But You Should)

This is my Personal Anti-Dancing Manifesto (PADM). It is a point-by-point, painfully honest examination of my dancing disability. My hope is to lay bare the ugly truth of this disability and in doing so, motivate you, the Reader, to dance in my place.

Some people dance. They dance freely. The Dance flows loosely from them like the languid unrolling of a sheet. They look beautiful in their ease. They inhabit their own rhythm, smiling, and meaning it. They look like an uncaged bird, free at last. They actually enjoy being looked at. Look at them now: see how they revel in their comfortable power? I don’t begrudge them their dancing… Hell, I’d do the same thing -- if I could.

I’d dance your damn face off...

If I could dance.

One problem: I can not dance. Let me restate this with the proper emphasis: I CAN NOT and SHALL NOT dance. I WILT NOT dance. I DANCE NOT. Are you catching my Old Testament drift, Pilgrim?

God skipped my bedroom the night he was giving away dancing powers. Do I hold a grudge against my higher power for this malfeasance? You bet your ass. Does my utter lack of dancing powers make me feel morose, “lesser than”, down in the mouth and otherwise pissed? The answer is YES.

And now, the requisite Chuck Bukowski quote:
“I never cry, baby… … Of course I do.” – Charles Bukowski

But enough of my weeping. At some point, the dance-challenged boy grows into a dance-embittered man. And that man writes his personal anti-dancing manifesto:

Reason #1 Why I Don’t Dance (But You Should)
I can play guitar. I can sing. That would seem to indicate that I have rhythm. WRONG-O, sugar. Evidently, all sense of rhythm runs screaming from my body like a scalded dog the moment I get near a dance floor. Can words describe my freakish movements? I doubt it. But I’ll try:

Ever go to the grocery store and get that cart with the one bad wheel? That’s how I dance. No… that isn’t quite right.

Imagine someone accidentally falling out of a 31st story window, stabbing themselves repeatedly on the way down. No… that isn’t quite right.

Rapid onset cerebral palsy meets a drunk trombone player on roller skates. No… that doesn’t really capture the horror of my dancing either. Some things can’t be explained in words, people. But trust me, it aint pretty.

Reason #2 Why I Don’t Dance (But You Should)
A girl once told me, “I can tell how a man would be in bed by how he dances.”

[Pause for devastating effect.]

Sweet Jesus... You mean to tell me that when someone dances, they’re being evaluated not only on their dancing, but for their fitness as a sexual companion too? This was like hearing I had a terminal, flesh-eating disease.

If this is true, then I make love like a cornered chimpanzee with a permanent fight-or-flight grimace on his face. This means that I screw like a bike wreck. That girl’s innocent comment about how dancing was a surrogate for sexual ability permanently welded my dancing doors shut.

Reason #3 Why I Don’t Dance (But You Should)
Look, I don’t want to play the race card. But White Man’s Overbite (WMO) is alive and real. Scientists are researching the roots of this devastating condition. The Nurture Camp says we learn WMO from behavioral models and situations early in our childhood. The Nature Camp says the dark source of WMO is locked deep inside our genetic code. I choose Aristotle’s golden mean and say it’s both.

Regardless of WMO’s origin, the dance floors of the world are a cold place indeed for WMO sufferers such as myself. For all the progress we’ve made in the area of civil rights, it is an indisputable fact that people with WMO are constantly told to sit in the back of the dancing bus. And I just don’t have what it takes to be a Rosa Parks of the shuttered dancing class. I’m just not that strong.

Reason #4 Why I Don’t Dance (But You Should)
Let’s be honest. Dance music sucks. I mean… I’m not an aficionado of dance music (obviously), but every single time I’ve ever been dragged into a club I’ve been assaulted with that old familiar whump-whump pumping away at some ass shaking BPM. Oh I know… there are endless subtle, nuanced variations of this thing we call “electronic music”. To wit:

Ambient house
Ambient industrial
Ambient techno
Black ambient
Dark ambient
Drone music
Illbient
Lowercase
Psybient
Baltimore Club
Big beat
Broken beat
Chemical breaks
Florida breaks
Nu skool breaks
Progressive breaks
Cosmic disco
Dance-punk
Eurodance
Euro disco
Hi-NRG
Italo dance
Italo disco
Spacesynth
Synthpop
Acid jazz
Balearic Beat
Chill out
Minimal Electronica
Glitch
Nu jazz
Trip hop (aka The Bristol Sound)
Berlin School
Electroacoustic
Dirty electronic
Electro backbeat (aka anthem breaks)
Electroclash
Electropop
Freestyle music
Bitpop
Chiptune
Downtempo
Folktronica
Futurepop
Glitch
IDM
Nu Jazz
Synthpop
Synthpunk
Trip hop
Speed garage
2-step
4x4
Breakstep (aka Breakbeat garage)
Dubstep
Grime (aka Sublow/8-bar/Eskibeat)
Bassline (aka 'Niche')
Funky
4-beat
Bouncy techno
Breakbeat Hardcore
Breakcore
Darkcore
Digital hardcore
Doomcore
Freeform hardcore
Gabber
Happy hardcore
Hardstyle
Jumpstyle
Makina
Noisecore
Speedcore
UK Hardcore
Acid house
Bubblegum dance
Chicago house
Dark house
Deep house
Disco house
Electro house
French house
Freestyle house
(US) Garage
Ghetto house
Grind house
Hi-NRG
UK Hard house
Hip house
Italo house
Jumpstyle (Chicago hard house)
Kwaito
Latin house
Merenhouse
Minimal house/Microhouse
Pumpin' house
Progressive house
Skacid
Tribal house
Tech house
Martial music
Neofolk
Post-Industrial
Electronic body music
Coldwave
Dark electro
Futurepop
Noise music
Power noise
Technoid
Clownstep
Darkstep
Drumfunk
Futurestep
Hardstep
Intelligent drum and bass
Jump-Up
Liquid funk
Neurofunk
Ragga jungle
Raggacore
Sambass
Techstep
Trancestep (aka Electrostep)
Acid techno
BrainDance
Detroit techno
Freetekno
Ghettotech
IDM
Jtek
Minimal techno
New beat
Nortec
Rave music
Schranz
Wonky techno
Acid trance
Ambient trance
Classic trance
Dream trance
Euro-trance
Hard trance
Hardstyle
Nu-NRG
Progressive trance
Psychedelic trance/Goa trance
Full on
Goa trance
Dark psytrance
Nitzhonot
Progressive psytrance
Psybient
Psybreaks
South African psytrance
Suomisaundi
Tech trance
Uplifting trance/Epic trance
Vocal trance
Space music
New Age music
Ethnic electronica
New Wave music
New Romantic
Dark Wave
Ethereal Wave

To me, this dizzying list just proves that there are 166 ways to say “I suck”. My point: dance music doesn’t inspire me to do anything other than leave the area.

[By the way, If I ever were to dance, it would be to Tom Waits’ song, “Cold Water”. I would stomp, drunkenly, as if I had a peg leg, in the center of the dance floor and not give a god damn who was watchin’.]

Reason #5 Why I Don’t Dance (But You Should)
I think of dancing as a series of seamlessly interconnected “moves”. Kind of like chords in a song. Well… if my dancing was a song, it would be 4 minutes of someone playing a G chord on an out of tune guitar. Or put another way, I dance like a bad open mic night.

Reason #6 Why I Don’t Dance (But You Should)
I have tried dancing once in my life. It was a long time ago. Wanna know what I learned? I learned that I think entirely too damn much to dance. My internal monologue rivaled a champion chess player evaluating his next move. I nearly overheated my cranium wondering “WHAT THE FUCK AM I GONNA DO NEXT?” I ran out of moves after 9 seconds, after which I grinned and randomly gyrated like a retard in front of that poor, poor girl.

Reason #7 Why I Don’t Dance (But You Should)
Okay. Here’s an admission: I secretly believe that I am the world’s best dancer. But only if the song is 9 seconds in length. If songs lasted 9 seconds, I would be a frickin’ solid gold dancer. I can bust a mutha-humpin’ MOVE for 9 seconds. (Ahem... is dancing really like sex? Dammit!) I look guh-ood for that first 9 seconds. But then, my mind kicks into gear. I begin thinking… and I run out of moves. Yes. I just said “moves”. That’s another problem… See Reason # 5.

Why You Should Dance In My Place
The denouement of this unpleasant dance confession, of course, is that you, Dear Reader, have to dance in my place. There are John-shaped spaces on dance floors across America tonight. Lonely, sad, empty spaces on the dance floor, waiting to be filled with your gorgeous self. I need you to dance for me. It’s your civic duty. And when you are out there, letting yourself go, shake it, just once, for me.

Besides, we all wanna see what you’d be like in bed. I bet you’re a natural.

Why do I do this to myself? (1st Olympic Dist TRI)

Last summer, I did my first triathlon... a mostly sprint distance up at the Boulder Reservoir (click here to read all about it). I forget the name... it was for a charity thing. Anyway, I promised myself that I'd do an Olympic distance triathlon THIS summer. (1500 meter swim, 40K bike, 10K run)

It seemed like a worthy goal... something to shoot for... double the distance.

Well, it's "this summer".

I tried to find the latest one in the season that was still being held in Colorado... because even though I've been training pretty consistently since this winter, my running distances have been WAY less than a 10K. Mostly because of 1) an ankle injury and 2) a 3 or 4 week period where I just stopped giving a shit. I almost totally fell off the training wagon.

Imagine my terror and deep disappointment this week, when I realized that the last Olympic distance TRI of the summer is August 16th -- the Rattlesnake Triathlon. That's like 4 weeks from today.

So... I have 36 days to try and prepare myself for what will most certainly be a suffer-fest for Johnny Boy.

I suppose I could just curl up into a fetal position, in a closet, and star in my own weepy, pathetic meltdown movie scene... But instead, I'm gonna use THIS BLOG ENTRY to get my anxiety under control. And I'm dragging you with me, Dear Reader.

Let's break this thing down, sport by sport:

THE SWIM
Distance: 1500 meters
Mitigating Conditions:
A big ass reservoir -- i.e. deep open water. Oh, and I'll be surrounded by a hungry pack of amped up, semi-professional, amphibious, highly competitive, cardio-honed, hardened triathletes -- the real kind. Imagine that aerial photo: me, semi-drowning but trying to act cool about it, in a churning, foaming, triathlete blender.

My Strategy:
That's a cat's whisker less than a mile. (actually, about 100 meters less, but I wanted to say "cat's whisker"). Yes, I can swim 1500 meters. Not fast... or anything even remotely resembling fast. But I can do it... It's at the top of my swimming ability though... and I'll be doing a lot of breast stroke (as opposed to the more exhausting freestyle)... I use it as basically a rest stroke in the middle of long swims. Faith. I'll have faith in all the swimming I've been doing this summer. And I'll probably let the gun go off and get in the water last... let the fish-men and fish-women fight it out. I just have to stay relaxed and calm. Freaking out and hyperventilating in 50 feet of water is something I'd like to avoid.

THE BIKE
Distance: 40K or 24.8 miles
Mitigating Conditions:
Other than a strong head wind, a flat tire, a gnarly wreck or mega-hilly terrain, I don't think I'll run into any awfulness on the bike.

My Strategy:
This should be okay -- another bike workout I've been doing long rides once a week for weeks and weeks now. Again, I won't be fast, compared to everyone else (are you sensing a personal trend here? I'm SLOW), but this will be the easiest part of the race for me. I just need to get in the zone, knock it out and mentally prepare myself for the run that will be waiting for me, 24.8 miles down the road...

THE RUN
Distance: 10K or 6.2 miles
Mitigating Conditions:
As the third part of the race, it'll be late morning (for me) by the time I get to the run. I'm anticipating the following: 1) it's gonna be FUCKING HOT; 2) my legs will be feeling pretty darn tired; 3) I'll be feeling a little like a loser after spending the last 2+ hours being passed by everyone else in the race -- i.e. low motivation.

My Strategy:
Hmmm... The truth is, the moment I climb out of the water, having successfully avoided a drowning incident in the reservoir, I'll know the rest of the race will be about getting to the run and just gutting it out. I think it will mostly be about me controlling my mind... or... countering my suffering thoughts with strength thoughts. I normally take an hour to do a 10K (told ya I was slow) -- that's when I'm fresh. So I'm preparing myself to be running (walking?) for as long as an hour and a half after being all tuckered out from the swim and the bike. So here are the thoughts I'm pretty certain that I'm going to have during the run:

SUFFER BRAIN: "It's hot"
STRONG BRAIN RESPONSE: It's really not that bad, and besides this is temporary. Stay strong. You'll feel proud and really good when you cross the finish line, strong. Gut it out.

SUFFER BRAIN: "My legs have no energy. My form is shit. I feel clunky and slow."
STRONG BRAIN RESPONSE: It's really not that bad, and besides this is temporary. Stay strong. You'll feel proud and really good when you cross the finish line, strong. Focus on a smooth form and breathe through it... get into a rhythm.

SUFFER BRAIN: "I want to walk."
STRONG BRAIN RESPONSE: No you don't. Quitting feels WAY WORSE than suffering. Think of one of the 5 new songs you just wrote. How would they sound on the new record? Arrangement? Instruments? How should we record each song?

SUFFER BRAIN: "Wow. That 85 year old woman just passed me. I'm a loser. Why did I do this race? I shouldn't be here."
STRONG BRAIN RESPONSE: Bullshit. BEING HERE is what it's about. You're doing great. It's about HOW you do the race, not where you finish. Besides, if you REALLY want to, you can find that old woman after the race and punch her in the spleen. KIDDING!


Hmmm...

I think that helped.

Okay. I gotta go work out now...

My Brothers Were In The KISS ARMY

When I was a little kid, my two older brothers were both privates in the KISS ARMY. (Did that mean they kissed privates?)



I watched their indoctrination from across the hallway in a dazed-but-fascinated stupor. I didn't quite know what to make of this kind of hero worship. I just knew that my brothers were pretty cool... so I kind of assumed that their KISS fetish was cool too?

Hey, that was my "normal". Don't judge.

At one point in the late 1970s, I think it was reported that KISS actually had the world's 5th largest army after the US, USSR, South Korea and Iraq.

Impressive.

Thank God my brothers never actually had to go to battle though... Even though they had cool uniforms (3/4 sleeve concert t-shirts, tight jeans and pooka shell necklaces) they would have been woefully unprepared for a real fight. Their meager weaponry would have only included:

1) A cardboard Gene Simmons Battle Axe Bass.

2) A fanatical ability to scream "I... ... WANNA ROCK AND ROLL ALL NIGHT... ... AND PARTY EV-UH-REE DAY!!!" like crazed bozos.

3) And a pervasive-but-vague, homoerotic love for big-haired men in greasepaint, medieval battle gear, high heeled boots and tight trousers. If you can call that a weapon.

At the time, I really wished that I was older... so that I could have answered the call. I wanted to do my part. I wanted to join my brothers in whatever fight the KISS ARMY was preparing for. But I was just a kid... to0 young for the army.

My destiny didn't include joining the army. Any army.

Looking back, I now see the debt my brothers paid for me. Their commitment to something much, much larger than themselves. I honor their service. Are they heroes or were they just doing their job? I suppose we each have to answer that question for ourselves, in the quiet of our own hearts.

I know what I think.

I'm just glad they got out alive.

Messed Up

Wrote this one a month ago. Starting to demo it for the new record maybe... (below)

Messed Up
copyright 2008 john common music

I thought i knew
Everything there was to know
About myself
I didn't need to grow anymore
I had it all figured out
But then you walked in
Aww girl…
You messed me up again

You have this way
Of making things so clear
And it can hurt
But when it hurts, you're here
Hanging tough, you don't run
When i take one on the chin
Aww girl…
You messed me up again

Messed up
Broke down
But open
Ready
And waiting
For something
Maybe good…
Would it be such a sin?
Girl, you messed me up again

We never choose
The time or place we let go
It just shows up
And then the next thing you know
You're crying out, scared to death
Wondering how it's gonna end
Aww girl…
You messed me up again

Messed up
Broke down
But open
Ready
And waiting
For something
Maybe good…
Would it be such a sin?
Girl, you messed me up again

Here's a very rough demo:

Love's A Shark

My good friend just got her heart utterly broken... She came over this morning and told me the whole story of how it all went down. She was a wreck. I tried my best to make her feel better... to let her know that she and everything else was going to be okay. As she was leaving, she said she felt better. But she was just being nice, I think.

I decided not to go out tonight... I was just sitting around, bored. And then I wrote this song. Evidently, I was thinking about her and her story and how love generally wrecks us. Usually in the best of ways...

Hope you like it. It's kinda weird. I wrote it and immediately recorded it with my shitty laptop microphone:

love's a shark
july 5, 2008

love is stalking you
it's parked at the end of your block
when you walk away from love
it loves the way you walk
love is following you
it can swim faster than your car
you're getting drunk next to love, babe
it followed you in this bar

love is creepy
love is dark
love is scary
'cause love's a shark
it's gonna eat you, take you to the bottom
of a deep dark hole
but it's the thing you need
you know you want to bleed
baby, love's a shark
baby, love's a shark

love can swim through bedroom walls
it knows when you cry
you can curse and you can kick it
but you still can't make love die
love didn’t crown you lonely
you did that on your own
but it'll be there waiting
when you come down off your throne

love is creepy
love is dark
love is scary
'cause love's a shark
it's gonna eat you, take you to the bottom
of a deep dark hole
but it's the thing you need
you know you want to bleed
baby, love's a shark
baby, baby
baby, baby
baby, love's a shark

Messed Up

messed up


I thought I knew
everything there was to know
about myself
I didn't need to grow anymore
I had it all figured out
but then you walked in
aww girl…
you messed me up again

you have this way
of making things so clear
and it can hurt
but when it hurts, you're here
hanging tough, you don't run
when I take one on the chin
aww girl…
you messed me up again

messed up
broke down
but open
ready
and waiting
for something
maybe good…
would it be such a sin?
girl, you messed me up again

we never choose
the time or place we let go
it just shows up
and then the next thing you know
you're crying out, scared to death
wondering how it's gonna end
aww girl…
you messed me up again

messed up
broke down
but open
ready
and waiting
for something
maybe good…
would it be such a sin?
girl, you messed me up again