My Two-Cents: The Institution of "eSports" and the FGC (Fighting Game Community): My Take

In an effort to keep the weblog afloat, I figured I'd kick off a series of weekly/bi-weekly editorials detailing my own perspective and personal opinion of situations occurring throughout our society. Some may be fringe issues afflicting few among us, or conversely, on a much larger, proliferative scale which ultimately affect all of us to some extent or another. I understand and accept that I haven't been the best weblogger that I can possibly be, and through these pieces, I hope to reinvigorate this space and, in the process, get something going in the way of fruitful discussion and rapport amongst my handful of readers (which in itself is probably laughable, but I digress).

Over the course of the past several weeks, there's been controversy brewing between the online "eSports" and fighting game communities. What seemingly began in earnest as a discussion regarding the difference between commentary during online broadcasts/streams between the two collectives has ultimately revealed, over this brief period of time, an underlying and long withstanding difference in culture, and ultimately, context of opinion. One side of the coin sees the other as an uncultured, boisterous lot with no real sense of professionalism, ethics or humility. The other fashions the opposite as stodgy, overly pompous and unable to derive any sort of enjoyment from what they purport to "love" doing for a living. What both fail to realize, however, is that talk is fundamentally cheap and until someone or something puts forth an idea that is both profitable and viable for both factions nothing will be accomplished. The baseless assumptions, rampant xenophobia and misunderstandings, and above all else, foolish politicking will continue on ad nauseam until the scenes implode with ignorance.

We all want to make a comfortable living. That's what being a professional is about, in essence. You must thoroughly enjoy that which you've taken up as your chosen profession, but when the work is finished and the smoke settles, you want that payment for a job well done. Anyone who denies this is either a master of false modesty or outright lying between their teeth. What those in professional gaming seem to misconstrue is that one can be "true to their roots", HONEST and still make a significant profit in the process. To expect someone to eschew all that they represented prior to coming to prominence in their chosen field is disrespectful not only to the person who has the burden of professionalism placed upon them, but to the profession itself. Without passion, the person cannot perform to the best of their ability. Without having a reason to "fight onward", there cannot be progression of any sort. Instead you'll fall into the process of the inane and of routine, and that's not good for anyone.

To expect less outbursts or "hype" (excitement) from the FGC would be taking away an essential ingredient to the identity of the movement. Socio-economical issues aside, to demand one to remain reserved and docile during an exciting match up -- be it within the fighting community or elsewhere -- is delusion. Do you attend a boxing/MMA event and expect the crowd to sit on their hands and politely applaud throughout the festivities? No. There's little difference in watching someone play a thrilling match up in, say, "King of Fighters XIII" or "Street Fighter IV" than there is watching a heavyweight boxer smash his competition to bits in the middle of the squared circle. Delving deeper, there's little need to make demands upon the social behaviorism of an audience of a product, particularly if it augments said product or the immediate culture surrounding it. We don't expect affluent Englishmen to represent us as gamers because that's not who we are. It's not who we're going to be tomorrow, it's not who we're to become in the distant future.

Just as we cannot compromise ourselves for corporate interests, it would be folly to think that, if we should choose to pursue a career as video gamers, we're selling ourselves short and abandoning our principals as a cohesive unit. What there needs to be is a joining of the minds -- an understanding that we are gamers first, fighting/RTS players secondly -- and move from there. When I sit down to enjoy myself with a session of "KOF XIII", "Heavy Rain" or "Grand Theft Auto IV", I don't want to be burdened with the stolid compartmentalizations/taxonomies of "race" or "ethnicity" or any other of our society's multitude of ills. Likewise, I don't want to deal with factions of adherents of these idiotic viewpoints bringing these thoughtless and antiquated social processes into my hobby that I embrace solely to ESCAPE the trappings of my reality through the vein of "genre loyalism". I think this is another underlying issue that's at play here. I can see it now: "My RTS is much better than that primitive mashing you call fighting games." "Well, my fighting game is more watchable and 'hype' than your RTS," Not the greatest example, but you can see where I'm leading with this.

People, we need to stop allowing emotion and loyalty to get in the way of what will ultimately allow us to grow financially and, I hope, as gamers. Respect community members should begin a conversation among themselves and pledge whatever resources and time they can offer to every community that falls under the category of competitive video games. Be it finances, streaming equipment, advertisements -- if we can at least respect what one another is doing and offer our support -- even if it's a verbal show of approval -- and get something done instead of incessantly whining and pointing our fingers, we'll all be for the better of it. One solution would be to hold three or four majors a year for our respective communities (with as much support from others as our own, bear in mind, as it would ultimately prove to be a collaborative effort for everyone's benefit): for example, the first-person shooter community would have three or four regionals, a national (think "Evolution/EVO") and then grand finals would be held at one large event held by the competitive community as a whole; the same would go for the fighting, RTS, racing communities as well.

The aforementioned would be the best way to streamline what would at first appear to be separate communities into a cohesive, self-functioning unit and perhaps garner interest into a particular sort of sub-genre from strict adherents of another just by exposing them to something that they may have maligned simply out of ignorance and little to no personal experience. Now, I know this is simply wishful thinking to many, but it can be done if the right individuals come together and, again, get their priorities straight and can come to a rational consensus about the current situation of competitive gaming -- which is, let's face it, pretty dire in the grand scheme of things.

At the end of the day, we can do all of the bickering in the world but it's not doing us any favors. Let's shut up and do SOMETHING.

A Much-Belated Update....

As promised, here's the long-awaited unboxing of what could prove to be one of the biggest boxed sets of the year -- and it comes to us from none other than Chicago's very own purveyor of the woefully obscure, the fantastic (if not cocksure) archival label Numero Group! Due to an unforeseeable delay, the release was pushed back about roughly a week (and it took nearly two after having been shipped off to get into our hands here at Inlands), but luckily, the packaging is impeccable and the music contained within is equally appealing, if not slightly offbeat and packing a bit of sixties kitsch to boot. Seeing as we just received our copy this afternoon, a review will not be posted for at the very least a week, but keep your eyes on this page for when it's published.

Until then, feast your eyes on what could prove to be the biggest feat in Numero history up until this point.

East of Underground: Hell Below Boxed Set/Re-Issue Unboxing and Review

It's been several weeks since my last post, and thankfully "Odd Ryan" has been keeping things afloat with his recent posting of the excellent poem "Hollow Men" by acclaimed author T.S. Eliot -- I'm in your debt, friend -- but now it's time to get back into the business of regularly updating the weblog. As often it does, life has a tendency to get in the way of what we truly wish to be doing, and a great deal has occurred offline since my last true update ("The Rise of the Social Behemoths"). From familial issues to simple procrastination, I vow never to fall in such a slump again. If I do, slap me. Send a horse's head to my doorstep. Anything!

Today's unboxing (and I hope to post more in the future, including Numero Group's highly-anticipated Boddie box due in a week or two's time) focuses on the fairly recent Now/Again re-issue of the cult "East of Underground" LP originally released by the United States Army as a means of boosting morale and garnering the support of troops, their families, and new/potential recruits in the midst of the Vietnam conflict. The result of several Army musical talent showcases held in Europe for those stationed there throughout the years 1971-72, "East of Underground: Hell Below" features albums by the winners of 1971's (the eponymously titled "East of Underground" and "Soap") and 1972's ("The Black Seeds" and "The Sound Trek") showcases, respectively. The latter three (Soap, Black Seeds and Sound Trek) have never seen release on any other form of media, until now.

All three discs/four LPs are chock full of mainly amateurish, plodding, and barely-managed covers of popular tunes of the era. The most musically proficient of the groups also seems to have the best production on their LP....it's no surprise that "East of Underground" is as renowned in some circles as it is. This was a talented group of young men, especially apparent on their fast-paced, paranoia-inducing cover of the Mayfield classic "(Don't Worry) If There's A Hell Below, We're All Gonna Go". The harmonies throughout the record, while not always pitch-perfect, are sufficient and speak of a chemistry that could only be achieved by those who've had a great deal of experience in the business or who performed with one another for several years. What's impressive here is that the members of "East of Underground" played together for mere months and accomplished what many notable bands take years to do: borrowing from a vast array of influences, yet combining these to give rise to a sound and attitude all of their own. Other cuts of note are a moody take on "Smiling Faces Sometimes" and a great, harmonious take on another Mayfield composition, "People Get Ready (There's A Train A-Comin')".

The second album featured in the collection, "Soap", isn't nearly as impressive musically and frankly, the tracks range from mediocre to outright cringe-worthy. The featured vocalists aren't the least bit impressive, and the female singer sounds as though she'd be more comfortable wailing through "La Traviata" than cooing "I Don't Know How to Love Him", a portion of which is featured briefly on a track simply entitled "Medley". Caterwauling wives of soldiers aside, there are some decent attempts at composing something listenable, such as the surprisingly coherent and dare I say soulful rendition of Neil Young's "Southern Man", thankfully sung (though I apply this term loosely) by a male lead with a sense of seventies hip. Most of the other songs included on "Soap" don't bear mentioning, save for the odious "Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves" which is laughable in its sense of lyrical melodrama.

The final disc/LPs consist of the 1972 Sound Trek/Black Seeds split, which is a studio recording passed off as a live performance. Sounding more like a collective of friends sitting around and having themselves a jam session fueled by copious amounts of hash and wine, they're occasionally off-key, sloppy slices of psychedelic soul. The Black Seeds' iteration of "Go Outside In the Rain" is portrayed here as a hazy, melancholic ditty filtered through the lens of someone strung out on opiates, not regretting the loss of a love but instead jonesing for their next shot of liquid heaven, their bodies wracked with an intense longing, and that nothing short of death will keep them from their next score. Conversely, the Sound Trek's "Walking In the Rain (With the One I Love)" comes across as a far more buoyant affair, employing an orchestra and somehow managing to be more endearing (especially the banter between two bandmates midway through) as a whole than Love Unlimited's version of the same tune. All in all, these two acts are not nearly as musically intriguing, nor do they hold one's attention as firmly as the East of Underground's set, but they are miles beyond the tepid offering that is "Soap".

This boxed set serves not only as a snapshot of a tumultuous, yet musically fortuitous era that many would rather soon forget than to experience again, but of the determination of those dwelling amidst this hell to make something of it, despite the uncertainties of tomorrow, much less the next hour. Though many of those responsible for the music contained on these discs did not see battle directly, there's a sense of tentativeness and paranoia, as if each member were awaiting the next shoe to drop and to be drawn into the frontlines of a conflict that, to this day, remains an ever polarizing piece of our history as a nation. These records are the story of young men and women who stood for something, even if they didn't quite know at the time what that particular something was.

Music aside, these discs/LPs are packaged lovingly within slip cases reminiscent of and true to their original vinyl sleeves, complete with quality cardboard and even plastic inner sleeves for the compact disc version of the set. Housed in an equally sturdy box featuring the ominous cover of the "East of Underground" disc, it adds to the aura of uncertainty and discomfort the music contained therein presents to the listener. Just a terrific deal all around, and highly recommended if you can bear to part with the thirty dollars (at most retailers) that it's going to run you. Definitely worth the money, and more than worthy of more than an initial listen. This is, dear reader, American history -- commercialized in the finest way imaginable.

Unboxing:

The Rise of the Social Behemoths, or "The Propagation of Social Isolation": A Rant

By now practically everyone, including their Grandma Claire, has had some sort of experience with the internet-based behemoth of social networking. Try as we might, there's no escaping its vast and invasive reach into our daily lives, from the workplace to the movie theater to, ultimately, our very own living rooms. Over the past several years, the phenomenon has shown us so much about our virtues as a collective species (from social drives to cure cancer, end homelessness and starvation and recovering missing individuals), and revealed the worst examples of social barbarism imaginable (incessant social "trolling"/baiting, group suicides, "cyber stalking", etc.). One major issue to arise, too, is the isolation of families the world over. Where there was once direct interaction between family members, there is now a rift created by the convenience of logging into our cyber worlds and disconnected from those around us. There is the irresistible opportunity to craft a persona that is what we wish and long to be, but is far from the individual behind the facade.

There's an enabling of the ego, a pandering to self not seen since the perversely decadent era of Nero thousands upon thousands of years ago. A bizarre need to gain acceptance through the most outrageous of behavior, on an epic stage the size of which no man has known before. Sure, there are benefits to these services, chiefly the ability to remain in contact with those who passed out of our lives years prior without so much as a hint as to their whereabouts; organization of (predominantly positive) social/familial functions at the click of a mouse; conversations with old school chums that we've lost touch with due to uncontrollable circumstances in one's life, etc. However, the negatives far outweigh the positives, and if these issues aren't addressed sooner as opposed to later, this entire "social renaissance" could very well blow up in our faces. I'm not above its detrimental influences, so by no means am I trying to put a damper on those addicted or reliant upon these services. Conversely, I'm trying to be a voice of reason.

With the increasing dependence upon social networks, we've also begun to see an inundation of choices: over-saturation and overexposure are never a good thing. They can, in many regards, prove detrimental. The disconnection from ourselves and those around us can be hastened by the constant influx of information, no matter how trivial or inconsequential it may prove. One way to create a social zombie is to overload them with all things social, all things extraneous. Games, music, celebrity gossip. Constantly bombard them with things that interest their "lower selves" and deprive them of that which enriches and empowers them builds the ultimate slave, eternally indentured to their desires. They will give their all to be entertained, forsake their freedoms for the pursuit of instant gratification. This is one of countless reasons that we should, at the very least, allow for a sabbatical from these institutions -- so that we can reacquaint ourselves with our essence, reacquaint ourselves with our humanity.

I had a huge aversion to social networking, particularly during its embryonic period. With the advent of sites such as Myspace.com, StumbleUpon and LinkedIn, I initially perceived them as though they were a strange, twenty-first century take on ego pandering. I'd often jokingly refer to it as "e-Pandering", to the dismay of my contemporaries. I recognized them as a tool for manipulators to further manipulate their prey, and also as a means for those in power to acquire information on those who frequented them on a regular basis. I felt justified in my skepticism, and rightfully so when account after account on Myspace was compromised, either by amateur hackers looking for a laugh or sophisticated scam artists looking for a quick buck. Eventually, over the course of the next four or five years, I noticed that these services were beginning to proliferate into every facet of our existence. From monitoring our travels to how we spent our leisurely time, there was a website or mobile application for socializing and connecting individuals in those situations. It was nightmarish, because I knew that eventually I'd be made to visit and join one of these social media conglomerates. It was just a matter of time.

Fast forward to two thousand and eight. Twitter is gaining steam as one of the hottest social media sites around, and most everyone I knew had created an account on the burgeoning network. My mother, being the avid portable gamer that she is, was even railroaded into creating an account to measure her progress in one particular title. I figured this to be a ludicrous breach of privacy, and I begged and pleaded with her to delete her account, to no avail. She was heavily into the game, and she'd hear nothing of it. She was acclimated to the age of the social network and didn't mind one iota that her gaming information was being sent, by the millisecond, to some data center thousands of miles away, accumulating information on her every virtual step. Then, irony struck. I'd been bitten by the bug. I had betrayed my beliefs, my convictions. I joined the "social revolution". One of my friends, whom I hadn't spoken to in quite a while, sent me an e-mail inquiring as to why I hadn't joined Facebook or Twitter in order to keep up with them. Although I didn't directly allude to my apprehension in providing these services with my personal information, I did oblige them and say that I'd "consider it", and we ended the conversation amicably.

Facebook, even in its infancy, had become infamous for its various maverick policies regarding user privacy, so it was out of the question. Twitter, on the other hand, looked appealing. A "microblogging service for the avid social networker" was how it was being proposed to the masses, and as a weblogger it looked relatively promising. I decided to give it the old college try and found myself liking the simplicity and ease of what I figured to be yet another site that would fold within six, seven months' time. I soon discovered, however, that I was becoming a self-absorbed, blathering idiot who was further isolating myself from the "real" world by posting about my every qualm with life, from my inability to cook the perfect souffle to how my mother and I had gotten into the argument to end all arguments. Personal information that shouldn't be revealed or known to anyone but to the parties involved. Dark broodings that are better kept to oneself. I found myself disconnecting, telling the story of someone that I quickly found unrecognizable. Narcissistic. Brash, without care as to how I was seen by those outside of my inner-circle. I began losing followers because of my emotionally-driven ramblings, some that I grew to know as good friends. I allowed my highly immature, constant need for attention ruin the "fun" of the experience. I, ultimately, permitted the wolves to slaughter the sheep.

It's this schizophrenic dichotomy that gave rise to this editorial, or more appropriately, this tangent. Though social networks are a sign of the times, and given our mile-a-second world, a necessity in some ways, they're also a catalyst for many new ills within our society. Within this sickness, the further isolation of our humanity comes into being. We're losing ourselves within the digital machine, facsimiles of ourselves without face or without origin. A number, a screen name. A voiceless voice. By promoting one of the very things that makes us human, we are destroying and disrespecting our humanity by perverting it into a faux approximation steeped in self. A contrivance that feeds off of our fallacies instead of admonishing them. I still have a Twitter account and I still reveal far too much about myself. I take more caution as to what I reveal, but I think that if we're going to progress as a people -- as a society -- we're going to have to leave our communicative devices and laptops by the wayside, if only for a moment, and begin that long, arduous journey towards reconnecting with one another.

Photographic Interlude

Though I can hardly afford the requisite equipment, one of my countless hobbies is photography. Seemingly everywhere I venture -- which, admittedly, isn't very far these days -- I'm compelled to take a snapshot as a sort of documentation of my travails. I've not had the chance to shoot anything remotely worthy of "professional grade", but these "Hipstashots" are current, personal favorites of mine.

I now gratefully share them with you, cherished reader.

The Dreaded "Writer's Block"

Hold the presses! The weblog isn't dead. Yes, I know that I've not been posting as often as I did over the past three or four weeks, but I've hit a roadblock insofar as what to write about. Nothing fancy here, folks. I'm out of ideas. I was planning on posting a psychological/philosophical overview of Paul Schrader/Martin Scorcese's acclaimed cinematic masterpiece "Taxi Driver", but got sidetracked along the way. I'll still be posting this eventually, but it's taking far longer than expected due to the film being so difficult to pin down; it's a multi-dimensional beast that's going to take more than three or four cursory paragraphs to do justice.

The next post will more than likely be the third edition of my bi-weekly "Sketches In Sound" series, with the "Taxi Driver" article following suit, though that may be within a week or two week's time -- it's day-to-day, so it's uncertain as of the immediate moment. Know it's coming, and know that I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. There's much to write about yet, but until I can latch on to something that holds my interest and that I have a passion for, I'll be taking a hiatus. Until then, friends.

Mario, "Inlands of Inanity"

Yo La Tengo - "....And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside-Out"

Human tales come a dime a dozen. Some are wracked in the irrefutable guilt of middle age, living a life in inescapable bondage, attached to an ever-fleeting aspiration that died long ago, yet our too-human need to derive purpose out of nothingness drives us onward, even in the face of undeniable failure. Others, still, are young yet and are just beginning. The rebellious, inexorable angst of youth clashing with generations before them, lost in a haze of confusion and irresolution, quarreling with a faceless adversary that seems both insurmountable and insidiously vexing.

With "....And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside-Out", Yo La Tengo explore every facet of the human journey, all the while creating an astoundingly beautiful (if not overwhelming) patchwork of Americana, kitschy lounge and, of all influences, Ennio Morricone and his contemporaries. This is an album that draws from a number of soundscapes, some more obvious than others, but it does it in a way that ultimately works. From the moment one glances at the enigmatic cover artwork, they know they're in for a memorable listening experience, evoking a glance at idyllic middle-America surruptitiously at war with itself, unaware of pending doom from outward forces. It's a return to the unspoken paranoia of post-war life, a fear of the unknown, a fear of the potential beast lurking within our innermost psyche.

The implied landing of a spacecraft, light caressing the ground of a quiet, suburban setting....it's mid-summer, early in the evening. Families are sitting down to dinner, chatting....ignoring. Dejected and estranged in one form or another from each other. What seems to be another prosaic and uneventful night becomes something far more. Self-reliance and togetherness become mandatory. It's fight or flight. Do you face the outward danger alone, or do you go inside of yourself? Abandon those you love for the sole purpose of self-preservation and survival? This is a study of humanity and of restrained emotions. It, too, is the American under an extra-terrestrial lens; as inextricably human as these compositions are, they also hold an otherworldly, almost alien perception of middle-American life, out of step with the times yet still remaining very contemporary. It's this peculiar duality that shapes the album from beginning to end.

All of these issues are ingeniously explored in this 2000 release on Matador, Ira Kaplan's understated, plaintive wail relegated to a mere whisper on the nostalgic, romantic paean "Our Way to Fall", with its feathered drums and understated refrains. Kaplan's wife, Georgia Hubley, in her immediately recognizable childish coo, pleads for the down-and-out soul of a man living on borrowed time, lost in past glories ("Let's Save Tony Orlando's House"). James McNew is also a factor, his reserved bass swimming beneath a current of flanged-out guitars, steady-yet-bucolic drum loops and patterns. It never seems lost among the instrumentation, but rather seems to guide it into a state of consummate pastoral euphoria, the soundtrack to a night spent alongside brooks in the countryside, lying on one's backside and staring into the stars in abiding wonderment. The trio, masterfully, have crafted a collection of songs that manages to retain the diversity of previous albums, yet remains thematically cohesive throughout -- a difficult undertaking, but they succeed.

However: the album, for all of its restrained musical virtue, can drag on in sections. Most notably is the closer, "Night Falls On Hoboken", which at first begins as though it takes a page out of Calexico's book of bromidic, Southwestern/No Depression-influenced banality descends into a repetitive loop of guitar twang and Tuckeresque drum sequences. What would work as the perfect closer in a three or four minute format goes on for an eternity, never going anywhere, never achieving the lofty pseudo-progressive goals that it sets for itself. Maybe, then, it is the perfect closer to an ode to the forgotten, a tribute to the everyman who spends his life seeking but never finding, lost in a sea of his own doldrums.

In this way, it could be said that "....And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside-Out" is a cathartic call-to-arms for the jaded and the disenchanted of the world. The soundtrack to that audacious dreamer that dare rise above the constrictions of daily ritual and forge the life of their choosing from the ashes of one steeped in hackneyed familiarity. "For those that dare dream, you have already achieved." Thanks for keeping faith alive and well in hearts the world over, Yo La Tengo.

My verdict: ****1/4

"Sketches In Sound, Vol. 2"

                                        

After several false starts, technical discrepancies and issues beyond anyone's control, I present to you the second installment in what was to be a weekly series of mixes featuring slices of my ever-burgeoning music library. Unfortunately, due to the aforementioned transpirings, I may have to readjust the schedule a wee bit and make it a bi-weekly posting. It only seems right, no? I'm digressing a bit, so let's get to the music!

This week, much like the last, is an eclectic mix of the well-known and artists who, given the chance, could have been just as big (if not more so) than their major label counterparts. Case in point, Washington, D.C.'s Father's Children, who had the musical prowess and intelligence of early Kool & the Gang and Earth, Wind and Fire along with the street savvy of lesser-known acts like Everyday People, Ice and Kane and Abel. "Linda Movement" is a slow-burning groover that builds upon the overall groove and musical concept of the wonderfully melancholic, pleading single "Linda". Saccharine harmonies, throbbing base, breezy strings and a jazzy mellowness easily make for a gem amongst gems.

Also featured this week are tracks by New Wave spazzes The Fabulous Poodles, Canadian folkstress Ronney Abramson, Arthur Lee's Love and a young, pre-pop Patrice Rushen. It was a pleasure compiling this collection -- I can only hope that, like the last time, you enjoy listening to it every bit as much as I did culling it together!

"Sketches In Sound, Vol. 2"

1.) Darwin's Theory - "Keep On Smilin'"

2.) Calexico - "Night At the Checker's"

3.) First Gear - "Peace, Peace"

4.) Father's Children - "Linda Movement"

5.) Murietta - "You Don't Really Know"

6.) Fabulous Poodles - "Pink City Twist"

7.) Ronney Abramson - "S.T.O.Please!"

8.) Reign Ghost - "Pudsy's Parable"

9.) Mtume - "Dunia"

10.) Electric Blue - "Pursuit of the 27th Man"

11.) The Whispers - "Living Together (In Sin)"

12.) Love - Que Vida!

13.) Sadistic Mika Band - "Boogaloo"

14.) D'Angelo - "Joe Texan"

15.) Patrice Rushen - "Puttered Bopcorn"

Sketches In Sound, Vol. 2

Dear World

*In no way is this piece meant to be taken literally. It's an extemporaneous attempt at expunging some dark thoughts that have been building over the past several months. Sometimes we must enter the darkest caverns in our hearts and explore their every nook and cranny as a means of personal catharsis. A peculiar means of healing: therapy, if you will.

Dear World,

I'm writing you this because my time is nearly up. Self-worth is down, self-depreciation at an all time high. I've tried to get my bearings to the point to where this would make rational sense....to someone. Anyone. Lately, I've lost sight of your appeal. Your pristine rivers, your fantastic vistas -- they no longer appease my once insatiable lust for beauty. The better part of my days are spent hoping, wishing that some ungodly celestial body will come careening into your tainted atmosphere, obliterating not only you but everything dwelling on your wretched surface. Yes, that would suit me just fine. It'd be a real kicker. Nice, swift and easy. Death from above.

I wish I could lie down, never to awaken. Fall into death's embrace, without prejudice....without detriment. Escape into a cold, isolated realm from which there is no escape, but also from which this physical hell no longer has any bearing. I want to be taken into a pit of self-despair so deep, none could ever hope to detach me from its barbarous grasps, lest they be taken into its unforgiving recesses, never to be heard from again. The faith that I held onto so staunchly ceases to exist, a whimper amidst a sea of resolute lethargy. I may be the sole cause of my sorrow; I'm well aware that this may be the case. Part of me wants to be saved from this torment, this purgatory of melancholic listlessness....another wants oblivion. Obliteration. Sweet oblivion.

Most of all....I want greatly to be understood. To be able to converse with another and feel genuinely connected to them, not as though they're being courteous to me so as not to insult or "hurt my feelings". Honest, genuine connection. Understanding. I think that we, as humans, are deserving of basic understanding by others. To maintain a relevance that is rarely afforded to those with little to offer -- that's my wish. Instead of a cold stare, a dismissive glance: camaraderie. I pine for a unity amongst man that hasn't been seen since the days of tribalism. We needed one another because if we did not afford another the time of day, it could very well mean our undoing. Survival. Maslow's "Hierarchy of Needs" alludes to this. He understood the desire, the LUST for acceptance. To be someone. To MEAN SOMETHING.

I no longer mean anything. To anyone, to anything. Most of all to myself. Into your arcane recesses I descend. I have my reservations....I realize that, most likely, I won't be coming back from this journey. Maybe that's payment to fate, unforgiving and without condolence. Life has taken its toll, for it has surely broken this soul. Until the next one?

Mosaic: Uncanny Windows 8 Emulation, or Pallid Imitation?

Out of sheer curiosity this morning, I decided to give the "Mosaic" skin a try. I'd been watching videos describing and exhibiting the unique, if not exactly innovative, "Metro" user interface which is to be included with the next incarnation of the long-standing operating system, and I was duly impressed. "Live" tiles that seem bursting with a strange life all of their own, vibrant colors drawing you in, practically shouting that "this is an experience!"

I haven't had a great deal of time with this extremely well done Windows Vista/7 modification, but what I can say is that, for a beta, it's incredibly smooth and well-rounded. Everything the daily PC user needs is here: e-mail integration, social networking (Twitter and Facebook widgets are available in the "Mosaic Store", which we'll discuss briefly), the aforementioned "live" tiles featuring calendar and clock interfaces, and last but certainly not least, the ability to jump back into the usual Windows experience/UI we've been accustomed to since the late '80s via the "desktop" tile.

E-mail and social networking are a breeze to set up: simply enter the required information after prompted, and you're set. The Twitter application works similarly to other widgets in that you're given a pin number that you must enter at the prompt, but aside from this, it works exactly as you'd expect it to. The calendar, weather and clock widgets are full screen, and are experiences unto themselves. Sporting smooth animations and screen-filling vibrancy, they're similar to what one would see on a Zune or the Windows Phone 7 series of smart phones except these are....well....ten times larger and quite a bit snazzier due to the processing power of a PC. One qualm I have, though, is that the weather widget is just as temperamental as that of "vanilla" Windows and you may find yourself gritting your teeth in frustration after having to re-enter your credentials after the screensaver kicks in. This is something I pray the developers fix in subsequent builds, as it's aggravating and dampens the otherwise immersive interface.

The "Mosaic Store" is an attempt to replicate, on a smaller scale, the forthcoming "Windows Store", though full-scale applications aren't available -- yet. What you do have access to, however, are widgets. From "Music" to "Video", no option is out of reach. To acquire any of these accessories, simply click on the desired widget, wait a moment whilst it downloads and installs, and you're basically good to go. I'd have liked to see YouTube and RSS feed widgets made available to users, but we can't have it all. Perhaps in successive builds?

Though "Mosaic" is hardly perfect -- it's buggy, being a beta -- it brings the "Metro" experience to those who simply aren't willing to install a developer build of Windows 8 just to see what all of the fuss is about or want something visually appealing to mess about with for a period of time. In time, I see this replacing the standard desktop for myself, but until the sluggishness and occasional crashes are squared away, it's nothing more than a nice diversion. Still, if you're a stickler for aesthetics, you owe it to yourself to give it a try, if only a cursory one.

To a lovely friend, for assurance and support.


A Letter to An Unborn Child


Cherished one,


As you rest within the comforting confines of your beautiful mother and creator, take in the sounds that surround you. Observe the repetitious heartbeat within you, the lifeblood of all humanity. The precious nourishment that is provided to you by the one who would give her all for you, no matter the situation, no matter the cost.


You will find, as you age, that this life holds much in store for you. The world that you enter is a wondrous one, but it is not without its travails and its hardships. Those you hold most dear to you will cause you the most torturous of pain, into the deepest valleys you could ever imagine, but they will also catapult you to the highest of highs.


This, dear one, is a world of dualities. You will find that you'll have more questions than you do answers. Fear not, as this is the intention. That which has given each of us the precious experience we've come to know as "life" on this magnificent planet seeks to improve us through trials. The journey is the most priceless gift we could ever receive, for one who does not seek answers and solutions is very much doomed to repeat the mistakes of their forebearers. 


Keep love in your heart for those who would otherwise persecute you, for it is this love that they may not have likely received during the course of their life experiences. Mountains are moved by the force of unencumbered, unconditional love.


Witness the trees, the air and the ground beneath your feet. Feel the Earth meld itself to the soles of your feet. Notice a unity, a collaborative effort between all elements. As you gaze into your mothers eyes, seeking assurance and acceptance, understand that within her lies a part of you, and vice versa. You are one. The love between you is shared between all beings, however it is desire for self-appeasement that drives men away from this natural conviviality. 


Be ever cognizant of your world, of your surroundings. Most of all, be love. Do your best to provide warmth to the coldest hearts, support to the most dilapidated bridge. However, never lose sight that you, too, need these things to survive. Hold perspective and balance forever in your heart,and you will be all right. There is no "perfect peace", but with these things in order, you will find peace in your heart, mind, and most importantly, spirit.


With great love and solicitude,


Mario

American Crimson

I slept. I was apathetic to the pleas of my fellow countrymen. Chaos and subsequent disorder consumed my reality whilst I sought respite in my slumbers. How could these sacrifices be allowed? How could death be an acceptable price for power?


I slept. My apathy was a direct result of my disbelief in the callous nature of those controlling our destinies.


Those atop the social pecking order. The "Bourgeois". They sat nonchalantly in their crystal castles whilst my world burned. My soul was crying, my world was dying, and here I was, speechless. How could WE, as a people, allow the endless thirst for dominion to come this far? 


I saw in myself, by virtue of sheer inaction, the very same beast that had taken hold of my reality. My life. My dreams of a world devoid of paranoia, without gross compartmentalization....vanished in one fell swoop. 


A tick, a crash and a thud. Dust permeates the late summer air, thousands screaming in unison, a plea to escape the insanity. The uncertainty. The HELL of men's unmitigated ambition.


I slept. I slept because the agenda had been met. I slept because when the chieftain waves his scepter in anger, the villagers bow to his might. 


Now that the stage has been set, how will we -- how will our children -- react to the totalitarian hell that is on the horizon? Remember those that died, so that you may unfortunately never see "freedom" as we so naively perceived it before the dust settled on that fateful September morning.


In memory and in honor of those who perished on September 11th, 2001. God rest your souls. 

Killing the iPod: A Rebuttal

"Business Insider: Killing the Dreams of Pre-Pubescent Music Lovers Everywhere!"

At least, this is what I imagine the headlines would proclaim in a more-sane, sensible world. In a snide, cocksure article posted just moments ago entitled, "Now Is the Perfect Time for Apple to Kill the iPod: Here's Why", the business periodical asserts that it's time for Apple to slowly phase out production of the device that quite literally defines the previous decade. The portable device that weights very little and costs a small fortune that, along with Steve Jobs' maverick brilliance, brought the once-struggling behemoth from the brink of oblivion to one of the most powerful technology conglomerates of our age (if not THE most). Yes, the device that became the de facto means of media consumption for adolescents and young adults is now passe, and needs to be taken into the backyard and put down like a dog on its last legs.

After reading the initial paragraph of this audacious piece, I was taken aback by the author's certainty that the dissolution of Apple's iPod product line would be of great benefit to the company. If anything, it would hurt public perception of Jobs, Cook and co. Irreparably? Maybe not. However, it'd definitely take some time to recover.

The Death of A Trusted, Highly-Lauded and Legendary Product?

Putting the iPod out to pasture would mean many things, but most of all, you'll be inexplicably robbing the consumer of that which is most important: choice. What if, hypothetically, Jake Jones is in need of a portable music device, but doesn't want all of the flash of a touch screen player such as the Samsung Galaxy Wi-Fi or the iPod touch (which I tend to classify as something of a hybrid device that rests between an iPod classic and the iPhone)? Having been phased out, the iPod (in any of its non-touch screen iterations) is no longer an option, and it's going for exorbitant prices on online retailers such as eBay or Craig's List. Sure, there are countless knock-offs, but having been a devoted iPod aficionado for years, he's no longer able to use the product with which he's been acquainted with for years, and he's angry. 

Seemingly out of options, decides to boycott Apple. This becomes an epidemic, and eventually Apple's once-loyal userbase begins to dwindle. It may not appear as though this grassroots rebellion put much of a damper on their financial earnings, but their relatively amicable public image has taken a hit. Image, to the corporate world, is everything. The way you present yourself to the world, the facade, is the most important means of convincing the consumer that your product -- your wares -- are not to be missed. I doubt Apple would be too keen on being perceived as the "big baddie who killed the music for Generation iPod". They seem to take pride on fostering a generation of self-absorbed, technologically sound kids. Unnerving and falling out of favor with a group that knows what it wants, is addicted to their products and feels a (peculiar) connection with them isn't good business. It's downright polarizing.

Cost, Cost, Cost!

Transitioning to flash drive-only devices would not only turn those with large music collections and suburban Timmy (whose parents refuse to shell out for an iPod touch or incur the iPhone's outlandish monthly fees), it would cause problems financially. It's already expensive to produce a thirty-two gigabyte flash drive for iPhones, iPads and the iPod touch. Incredibly so. Why would Apple cease production on a product that not only sells well, but is relatively affordable to assemble, produce and ship? This is what leaves me the most miffed. 

Then, there are those of us with extensive digital libraries who want to take a significant portion of our music with us on the go, and with the current crop of iDevices, this just isn't possible. I can't even fit one-fifth of my collection onto my thirty-two gigabyte iPod touch, much less the sixty-four gig incarnation. Think about this for a moment. A one hundred and twenty-eight gigabyte iPod touch or iPhone would cost an exceedingly high amount to produce, thereby making them super premium devices that wouldn't be affordable to your average consumer. This is why the two hundred and fifty gigabyte iPod classic is still, for the serious music connoisseur, a necessity. Again, another potential means of income alienated and forced to look elsewhere for a media playing device. Bad move.

Give Us Options, Or Give Us Aiwa!

Disallowing users the means of choosing which version of the iPod that best suits their needs is poor business, terrible PR and, in my not-so-humble opinion, foolish. Though no longer seen as the top-of-the-line, premium device that it was circa '01-'04, the iPod classic (among other forms) is an iconic product that deserves recognition for turning the media on its head and leading to, for better or worse, our ability to immediately access our video and music collections at the blink of an eye. 

Despite your views on the issue, there's something to be said for innovation.

Sony MDR-ZX100 Review: The Middle-of-the-Road Isn't Always A Dead-End

I’m, admittedly, not an audiophile. Yes, I have something of an unhealthy affinity for music, but I am not a fanatic when it comes to the overall quality of how my musical fix is delivered. Though vinyl is my preferred listening method, I’m just as content to slap on a pair of headphones alongside my trusty iPod touch and fall into bliss. That’s where the mid-range Sony MDR-ZX100s come into play. I opted for the visually alluring white model, which seems to be popular with the pre-teen set (read: iPod Generation), and although I was initially underwhelmed with their sound quality upon the initial listening session, within hours I was left thoroughly convinced that, for their price, they’re amongst the best possible quality one can obtain. 

Sporting a semi-glossy, ivory white finish, these could easily be mistaken for a higher-end product also coveted by adolescents the world over. While these in no way can compete with the aforementioned monitors insofar as audio is concerned, I’m willing to go out on a limb and state that the overall build quality is as good, if not marginally better, than the Beats by Dre (“Solo” model). 

The headphones themselves are fairly sturdy, and thanks to the acrylic material used in the monitor’s cushioning, will not become overly uncomfortable during extended listening sessions. Whilst performing various chores around the home, not once did I feel the need to adjust them, though due to the excessive summer temperatures I found my ears sweating profusely because of the heat generated by the prolonged activity. 

The ZX100s (and their slightly more expensive sibling — at nearly thirty dollars U.S. — the ZX300 model) include a cylindrical cord that all but assures that tangles will be a thing of the past, as well as frayed cables and other cord-related issues that could drastically impede the shelflife of the units. While the ZX100 model doesn’t have a gold-plated connector akin to the more costly ZX300s, the sound is fairly impressive after the initial “burn in” period.

Where these budget monitors excel sonically are in the mid-to-low ranges. Highs are somewhat tinny and unrefined, although it would take something of an obsessive to pick apart the discrepancies that this feature (or lackthereof) may bring rise to. To the casual consumer, these headsets are more than adequate for an extensive listening experience. I’ve owned the Sony MDR-ZX100s for nearly half a day, and while not floored, am more than content. Over time, and as my headphone familiarity builds, I may eventually deem these mediocre on all counts, but until then I’ll have to say that I’m quite happy with my purchase thus far. 

I’m definitely fond of my Sennheiser HD202s due to their vastly superior sound quality, but for the all-around budget consumer, these are at the top of the pile.

My verdict: ***3/4

Sketches In Sound, Vol. 1

One of the many things that I enjoy doing during my free time -- of which there's plenty -- is compiling playlists of tunes that, while though on the surface may seem like overly-eclectic mishmashes of tracks that have no similarity or bearing on one another whatsoever, ultimately showcase the depth and soul of my ever-expanding music collection.

The following is no exception, featuring selections by House progenitors Z-Factor and Jeff Phelps, Danish psychedelicists The Savage Rose and conscious Soul via the R&B quartet that never was, The Final Solution. I'll now allow the brilliance of the music to speak for itself and present to you the first volume of what I hope to be a weekly series of introducing you, loyal reader/Internet journeyman, to some of my fondest musical influences.


Ladies and Gentlemen, "Sketches In Sound, Vol. 1".


1.) Mellow Madness - "Mellow Madness"

2.) Anika - "Sadness Hides the Sun"

3.) Epitaph - "Big City"

4.) Gardens & Villa - "Black Hills"

5.) Isolation Ward - "A Request"

6.) Jeff Phelps - "Sometime Lover"

7.) Million Dollar Ecstasy - "(There Ain't Nothin') Going Down Tonight"

8.) Z-Factor - "Thorns"

9.) Saint Just - "Dolci Momenti"

10.) Kenny Durham - "I Had The Craziest Dream"

11.) Jane - "Try to Find"

12.) SPK - "Germanic"

13.) Savage Rose - "When the Train Comes"

14.) Final Solution - "Where There's A Will"

15.) Darwin's Theory - "Can't Mean That Much"

Sketches In Sound, Vol. 1

Spotify: Five Weeks Later, Does It Still Prove Itself Top of the Pile?

When I was first introduced to Spotify during the first week of its initial Stateside launch this past July, I thought it was the boost that streaming media needed to garner a major foothold in the market. I perceived it as being that revolutionary catalyst that would leave sites similar to eMusic in the dust, forced to languish in increasing obscurity and collapse onto itself due to an antiquated marketing strategy that hasn't been fresh since the demise of Napster some ten years ago.

Having used the highly-praised, critically lauded service for a little over a month and a half, I can attest that while it is definitely a convenient program to have around, especially if you have an immense love of music such as myself and my immediate family, its peculiar lack of well-known, blockbuster albums by household artists and occasionally convoluted interface leave a fairly languid impression with this user.

Admittedly, I'm not the world's greatest Beatles fan. I don't proclaim that they're the greatest popular collective to have ever graced the music scene, though one can't deny the indelible mark they've left on music in general over the past four decades or more. Strangely, however, I did find myself humming along to a commercial that featured the bubbly and delightful "Getting Better", and I wanted to listen to it in its entirety. Purchasing the ditty was out of the question, so I fired up Spotify in hopes of satisfying the inexplicable urge. To my dismay, it wasn't to be found. Anywhere. Nor were the hundreds upon hundreds of songs comprising of the "Fab Four"'s vast back catalogue. I was miffed, but understandably, it most likely has to do with Apple's licensing deal made last summer with copyright holders.

Nevertheless, I was dejected. I felt forsaken -- taken in. I, foolishly, wanted the boundless world of recorded sound/music at my fingertips, and I was let down by my newest friend. Boasting a gargantuan collection of tracks (supposedly over ten million tracks, and growing), and no Beatles? The most mainstream of the mainstream? I executed another search, this time for Led Zeppelin. Zilch, nada. Nothing but vapid covers. My love affair with the "Little Program That Could" was diminishing, and fast. I own several Zeppelin albums via audio cassette and digital format, but this was a travesty. This was a maddening and extremely baffling circumstance, but the dearth of major league "talent" (subjective to some, of this I'm fully aware) wasn't enough to leave me heartbroken and wanting a hiatus from my friend of nearly two months' time.

The iTunes-based interface, especially as it stands on the Windows platform, is in dire need of an overhaul.

Of major concern is the integration of one's personal library into Spotify's UI. Upon first glance, everything is neatly arranged via album, artist or genre, but if you delve deeper into the program, things aren't quite as they appear on the surface. Album art can -- and will -- be substituted incorrectly, which is just as perplexing as not including the debatable output of McCartney/Lennon. Take, for example, the syncing of my Velvet Underground collection. Not only were certain albums erroneously tagged, but the famous "Banana Album" (their debut) didn't feature the iconic artwork beside it, but rather the cover of the mid-eighties anthology of unreleased material, "VU". Not even changing the artwork in "MP3 Tag" seemed to rectify the issue. Being the anally-retentive scoundrel I can be, this was beyond unforgivable.

I was at wit's end, and for good reason. For something so simple, so ELEMENTARY to not be addressed by developers. This is a crying shame, because for what Spotify does correctly, it does amazingly; what it gets wrong, which isn't a great deal, it does horrendously. If Spotify can address -- as I'm quite sure they will, in due time -- these few aggravating inconsistencies, it will have a definite winner on its hands.

Until then, it's still a jester on the court of Apple's long-reigning king.

Spotify: “King of the Cloud”, or a court jester in training?

(Originally posted on "Return to the Pessimist's Commode" on July 17th, 2011)



I’m enjoying my time in the cloud; it’s a place where virtually every popular song, every popular album that’s been digitized within the past decade has been archived for the consumer’s immediate consumption. There are dangers, yes, but the potential for this technology far outstrips any concerns that I may have regarding the ability of the “tastemakers” of our world to control various aspects of popular culture.


One such forerunner in the race to prove the sheer dominance of the “Singularity” is the Swedish-based, music-oriented cloud service “Spotify”. Recently making its debut in the U.S. after accumulating great success across the pond, I was fortunate enough to acquire an invitation this past week and sample its wares; what I came away with is a peculiar mixture of lofty enthusiasm and adverse disappointment.


Invitations (limited, “free” trials of the service) can be acquired via the official website of the service, usually taking anywhere between a few days to a week to arrive, depending on the volume of those requesting a sneak peek. Once in, you have the option of opting in to one of three services, two of which are available to the general public as of currently: “Free”, which allows users up to ten listening hours a month with limited streaming capabilities; “Unlimited”, granting consumers with unlimited access to albums — so long as they remain relegated to desktop streaming — and finally, “Premium”, which is the pièce de résistance of the service: unlimited streaming, along with mobile integration.

There are, however, a few qualms: unless you’ve a consistent wireless signal and stellar internet service, you may find that this supposed perk is not really worth your while, as there are constant stream interruptions and the quality of sound isn’t exactly parallel to that experienced via the desktop client. One of my main sources of musical consumption is my iPod touch, and not being able to have a smooth and discrepancy-free session with the mobile “Spotify” application left me feeling a tad high and dry, particularly having purchased a “Premium” account for ten dollars a month.


Still, the “Spotify” experience improves a great deal when you’re listening on a PC or Mac. The interface closely mirrors that of Apple’s ubiquitous iTunes: playlists are displayed in a simple-yet-intuitive fashion, and the user has ultimate access to the entirety of his/her collection at the drop of a hat. Playlists are compiled seamlessly — drag-and-drop — and can be comprised of both native (files stored on hard drives) and online tracks, without so much of a hint of latency. I did notice an occasional drop in stream quality, especially with more popular tracks, but I’d assume this was due to increased server traffic above all else.


One perk that I did find quite useful was “Premium” users’ ability to store files on their hard drive(s) for immediate offline access. The process is simple and straightforward, requiring only that the user “star” or favorite the desired track/album and subsequently right-click to save. Though I haven’t downloaded many tracks to my computer as of yet, I thoroughly enjoyed the amazing quality and hope that future iterations of both the mobile and desktop clients allow for an even more streamlined integration of the offline and online experience.


There are countless tracks available to users immediately after obtaining a “Spotify” account, but some of the more obscure acts in music are grossly underrepresented. Sure, I dig early R.E.M as much as the next man, but what about fellow Augusta luminaries Dreams So Real? Aretha’s nice, but I especially admire Tata Vega and Doris Duke. Suffice it to say, I was a bit put off by this unfortunate dearth of lesser-known artists, but if “Spotify” can expand their library over the course of the next year, perhaps my opinion will change. As of now, I find “Rhapsody” and “Slacker” to be leaps and bounds ahead in this department, which is a shame as I prefer “Spotify“‘s far superior (and familiar) interface over the aforementioned sites. I don’t know if this is due to licensing issues or what the issue may be, but again, it’s maddening.


With Apple’s cloud service to begin rolling out to consumers this autumn, it’s difficult to predict who will be the king of the hill as far as online music streaming goes, but if “Spotify” can work out the few software and server kinks, not to mention expand upon its already vast library of artists, it could prove a worthy contender. For the time being, it’s a valiant effort, but nowhere near royalty.

Freebies Galore!

In a rare bout of shameless self-promotion, I figured I'd take a moment out of my oh-so-eventful day (this statement is made without the slightest inkling of sarcasm....*ahem*) and hawk some of my wares. They're not for sale, per se, but I'd very much appreciate it if you, good readers, would take some time to give them a gander when time permits.

What I present to you are two EPs that I cut over the course of two months on an iPad without so much as a hint of how to record a professional-sounding album; luckily for me, "GarageBand" is such an intuitive and easy-to-use program that I was up and running within a matter of minutes. These collections of songs and sound experimentation are in no way of the highest caliber, but I feel compelled to share them with the world.

That said, I'll post a link to both projects. The best part? They're both available to any and all interested parties, free of charge. Everyone loves something for nothing, right?

The EPs are available here: http://quietsundaylibrary.bandcamp.com/

Happy hoarding!

Darwin's Theory (1978)

In much the same vein as Kenny Dope’s Kay-Dee label’s recent “Mellow Madness” release, “Darwin’s Theory” is a slick-but-organic hearkening back to the embryonic days of what’s come to be known as “Rare Groove” and “Boogie”. Chock full of fast-paced dance groovers, this collection of tunes didn’t see the light of day until it was “rescued” from the hands of its owner, session guitarist and pastor Darwin Jones, most notable for his work with the likes of Sly Stone and Ike Turner.

The story of “Darwin’s Theory” begins in the mid-western, metropolitan purgatory of Tulsa, OK. Looking to branch out from his musical stasis, Darwin Jones set forth west to seek fame, fortune and a change of scenery. Eventually, as most young, impressionable youth do, he wound up in Los Angeles, doing odd jobs and landing sessions with the aforementioned luminaries. He left such an impression on Mr. Stone and his engineer that, surprisingly, he was given the keys to the proverbial kingdom — Sly’s then state-of-the-art recording studio located within his residence. Jones wasted no time assembling a band comprised of old Tulsa compatriots and ex-bandmates and set forth to record, in my estimation, one of the best unknown dance LPs in existence.

Recorded throughout the course of late 1977/early 1978, “Darwin’s Theory” effectively bridges the gap from discotheque to modern soul. An equal assortment of ballads and up-tempo floor-fillers, which was typical of the period, there’s very little in the way of innovation. Still, what this collection of recordings lacks in ambition it more than makes up for in spirited fun, and cuts such as “Keep On Smiling”, “If You Dance Tonight” and “Funky Sounds” will see to it that even the most vehemently anti-disco contingency is stomping its feet and snapping its fingers. The sole single to see release prior to the issuing of this LP on Lotus Land some thirty-three years later, “Accept the Truth”, is a slow-burning, mellow groover, replete with the excessive flourishes indicative of its era: lush string arrangements, a bubbly, complex bassline and wailing, slightly off-kilter vocals that recall the Wonder-esque croon of notorious soul act Wee’s equally controversial frontman Norman Whiteside.

“Darwin’s Theory” is a great documentation of an era steeped in decadence and debauchery, but not without its fair share of artistic indulgence and creativity. Though this album isn’t as ambitious in its scope as Wee’s “You Can Fly On My Aeroplane”, it’s just as interesting if not for the underlying theme of one man’s quest to break away from his humble, constricting beginnings and forge an attempt to leave a lasting musical legacy. That legacy never came to pass, but this intriguing artifact is worthy of several spins nonetheless. 

My verdict: ****


"Keep On Smiling"

"If You Dance Tonight"

Purchase the album in its entirety.