Ozzy and Me

In High School, maybe 9th or 10th grade, I had a friend named Irfan. I wish I could remember where he was from. He was a devout Muslim, but he also loved to rock out to Heavy Metal, so we became pals. We would sit in the back of the class, sharing headphones connected to my knock-off Walkman. One of his favorites was Ozzy Osbourne, so we would rock out to Bark at the Moon, or Blizzard of Ozz. (Irfan also really loved the Circle Jerks, for some odd reason). His favorite exclamation was “Ozzy is the devil! He is the devil!” He did not say this in fear, but in admiration, which cracked me up, because this guy was most definitely NOT into satanic shit, but he admired Ozzy’s ability to freak people out. So did I.

I cannot place the first time I became aware of Ozzy Osbourne. It was likely watching MTV in the early 80’s, seeing the Black Sabbath videos for Paranoid and Iron Man. I learned the myths of Ozzy through the heavy metal and hard rock magazines of the day: Creem, Hit Parader, Metal Edge, and Circus for the most part. When MTV decided to promote Heavy Metal music, they did so with a daily show called Hard 30. Out of 24 hours of insipid programming, they deigned to allow 4-5 videos in a 30-minute format. It was pathetic, but I LOVED IT! That show evolved into a weekly series on Saturday nights, titled Headbangers Ball, a two hour show I caught after everyone fell asleep at home.

As a 11-12 year old, some of Ozzy’s videos and record covers scared the crap out of me. The makeup effects Ozzy wore for the Bark at the Moon video were amazing, and freaky. The cover for Blizzard of Oz was sacrilegious and funny at the same time. The myth of Ozzy spread through word-of-mouth, before the internet and social media. If you saw someone with an Ozzy or Sabbath shirt you could strike up a conversation. That’s how I first heard of him taking a leak on the Alamo (he didn’t actually piss on the Alamo mission, but on a wall/fence that circles the grounds of the Alamo, either way, redneck Texans were pissed and Ozzy was “banned” from San Antonio) and of how Ozzy bit the head off a bat while on stage (something he actually did, after a fan threw a dead bat at him during a concert. Ozzy assumed it was a fake, and bit the head off, only to have his mouth fill with disgusting ichor. He suffered multiple rounds of rabies shots due to this incident.) The stories were endless, sensational, and engrossing.

The Ozzy of those stories clashed with the Ozzy I saw on stage, anytime MTV aired live concert footage (something they did regularly back when music mattered). On stage, Ozzy was the MAN! He would jump, and shout, and sing every word perfectly! His on-stage banter became my very favorite, for he would frequently yell at the crowd of throbbing metal-heads uplifting affirmations such as, “You are the greatest people!” and “We love you all!!” This was not the evil man portrayed in the legend. This was a man who loved to rock out with his bandmates, bringing a hype show to a crowd of fanatics. Ozzy actually cared about his fans, in a way that felt almost dorky compared to the ineffable coolness that most heavy metal frontmen tried to portray. Ozzy was goofy! He would leap into the air, clapping his hands, throwing up peace signs. He was having the same amount of fun onstage as he wished us to have in the audience. That is a very rare thing.

Sometime during the late 1980’s, I started a Church of David Letterman with my friend Hernan Antonio Villalobos (sacrilege has always been a hobby of mine). Letterman was our sardonic god, and we chose 12 disciples from the many people we admired for their originality, unassuming wisdom, and “fuck you” attitudes. The list included names such as Kurt Vonnegut, Lemmy Kilmister, and of course, Ozzy Osbourne. Ozzy never talked down to interviewers, or his fans. In the Penelope Spheeris film Decline of Western Civilization Part II, Ozzy takes center stage. One of the things he said has stuck with me all my life. When asked what advice he would give to young wanna-be rock stars, he replied, “You meet a lot of people on the way up. Don't fuck them; because you meet them on the way down as well.” This is timeless wisdom, shared honestly, and it applies to every field of human endeavor. I loved him for it.

No one ever sounded like Ozzy, and no one will ever sound like Ozzy. His voice is as recognizable in the history of western popular music as Elvis, Barry White, or his idol Paul McCartney. While Ozzy did not write many Black Sabbath lyrics, he delivered them with a passion and a forthrightness that makes your arm hairs stand on end. One of my favorite lines, penned by bassist Geezer Butler for the classic track Sabbath Bloody Sabbath, goes like this, “Nobody will ever let you know / When you ask the reasons why / They just tell you that you're on your own / Fill your head all full of lies, you bastards!” He really means the YOU BASTARDS part.

Many fans throughout the years have shared how much Sabbath, and Ozzy’s solo work, meant to them, helping them get through tough times in a world that seemingly does not care. I was one of them. Ozzy was our Heavy Metal guiding light, our fearless leader, still down-to earth, even when he made millions, and became a reality TV sensation. The world fell in love with Ozzy because he was himself, all the time. What an amazing example of a self-made human in a world of false greed and selfishness.

I watched the entire 11+ hours of the Back to the Beginning concert held just over a year ago, about 2 weeks before Ozzy passed. To see bands big and small pay tribute to Sabbath and to Ozzy made me emotional. Every single act on that stage, Guns N’ Roses, Metallica, Slayer, Mastodon, Anthrax, Gojira, Pantera, and more, owed their sonic existence to Black Sabbath and Ozzy Osbourne. Watching them perform Sabbath classics and deep cuts alike made me so happy. I wish I could have been there in person.

Once the big acts did their thing, it was time for Ozzy to get on stage. Seated on the heavy metal throne created for his Rock n Roll Hall of Fame ceremony due to advanced Parkinson’s keeping him from standing properly, I wondered what he would sound like. As soon as he started in on his classic solo track “I Don’t Know” I knew the world was in for a treat. Ozzy’s inimitable vocal tone cut through the night and showed the world how an artist properly goes out on top. Just days before, doctors warned him against performing, but Ozzy would not hear of it. His fans, and fellow musicians, awaited his performance.

When his bandmates in Black Sabbath, Tony Iommi, Geezer Butler, and Bill Ward, arrived on stage to culminate this amazing, once-in-a-lifetime concert, It felt like the entire metal world was paying attention. They blasted our ears and minds with 4 classic Sabbath tracks, and the concert was over, a massive triumph. Musicians who took part all said that magic was in the air that night, that Ozzy pulled up his last bit of awesomeness to share with the world. Many were moved to joyous tears at the sight.

Coming off this amazing high, it was a terrible shock to hear of Ozzy’s passing just 11 days after the concert. Ozzy was one of us, one of the good ones, always ready to help out a young up-and-coming band, or a young musician. He always made time for his fans, never condescending to them. He cared about us and we cared about him. It is now the anniversary of his passing, and I still get emotional thinking about it. Very few cultural figures elicit this reaction from me. Ozzy deserves it all and more. His music will live on in the ears and minds of anyone who honestly listens without prejudice. I would not be who I am if Ozzy had never existed, and the world would be a far shittier place. Rest in peace Ozzy. We loved you right back.

TEXT OF LIGHT Review

Text of Light: Ulrich Krieger, Lee Ranaldo, Alan Licht, and Tim Barnes 

TEXT OF LIGHT

On Saturday, September 22, 2012 I headed out to Barnavelder Movement Arts Complex in the sketchy part of downtown Houston to see a performance by Text Of Light, an avant-garde improvisational ensemble that performs music accompanying, and in conversation with, the films of Stan Brakhage, and other experimental American filmmakers of the mid-20th century.

If that sounds like an artsy-fartsy music nerd's wet dream to you, then you'd be correct.  The drone-filled sound collage created by these musicians is an awesome force, drowning out one's thoughts  and taking one's consciousness for a wild ride on the leading edge of cacophony.  The odd aspect of all this is the amount of restraint, of care in execution, that these musicians bring to the performance.  It is chaotic, atonal, drone-soaked and difficult listening at times, but above all it is always tasteful.  These are not hacks squealing away on their instruments trying to be artsy and loud.  These musicians are all seasoned veterans, capable of judicious restraint when it is needed, and tight cohesion throughout.

The intimate performance was made possible by a collaboration between two different Houston organizations, both devoted to the cutting edge.  Aurora Picture Show is a long-standing cog in Houston's arts scene, airing art films from around the world, providing Houstonians the access to cinema's fringe that is unavailable anywhere else.  The other organization is Nameless Sound, devoted to contemporary music and music education.  They have brought some of the most varied and edgy sounds to Houston for over 10 years.  It makes perfect sense to combine their forces to bring Houston a group like Text of Light, who themselves are an amalgam of film and music.  Barnavelder provided the performance space.

The event was a very casual affair, with the members of the group mingling among the patrons before the performance, as well as interacting with them afterwards.  I managed to talk shop after with everyone but Alan Licht, and thanked them all for making the trip to Houston, not generally known as an avant-garde group's destination.  Drummer/percussionist Tim Barnes and I talked about his varied instruments, especially a set of gamelan-style mini gongs that looked to be handmade.  Free improvisational percussion is one of the most difficult things to do well, and Mr. Barnes was amazing.

Saxophonist/electronics man Ulrich Krieger was also very cool, sharing his process and describing how, over time, he has refined his "toolkit" of electronics.  He was open and engaging, and a treat to talk to for a music nerd such as myself.

The biggest thrill of the night was meeting living legend (and one of my top musical idols) Lee Ranaldo.  Lee's other group, Sonic Youth, is my all-time favorite musical act, and I have loved his free form guitar skronk abilities ever since I listened to "Mote" off the Goo album, specifically the 5 minute long noise outro of that song.  I had never heard melody and dissonance put together in such a way.  It remains and all time favorite of mine.  Lee is well known for being a great guy and being open to talking to his fans, but I was still shaking  a bit with nerves as I approached him.  I stood by, not wanting to interrupt a conversation he was having with another fan but he looked at me, smiled, and said "Hello," first!  I introduced myself, told him I was a huge fan for so long, thanked him for the great show and the amazing sounds he makes, and shook his hand.  I then asked him, if it was not too much trouble, to sign my 10" vinyl of "100%," which also contains my favorite Lee song "Genetic."  Ever gracious, he signed it and he asked me about my art, and where online he could check it out, as I had told him I was a visual artist.  Amazing!  He could tell I was giddy and nervous (I almost forgot my own name) and he laughed and said "It was great to meet you Roberto."  CLOUD 9, PEOPLE!!!!

I made my way out to my parked car in a bit of hero-worship daze.  Not only did I get to see a performance by an amazing group of musicians but I got to meet and converse with a man I had idolized  since I was 16 years old.  I do not know if anyone else had as great an experience as I did, but I don't care!  I drove home enjoying a celebratory cigar and reliving the whole night, with the sounds of Text of Light bouncing around in my skull.  It was the best $15 I ever spent. 

Below is a performance by Text of Light from 2 years ago, to give you an idea of what I love. 

RXTT

2012

Things I Have Learned Collecting Records (which have nothing to do with music)

# 1 – Organization

I am not the most naturally organized of humans. However, collecting records have taught me that proper care and storage of a collection requires diligence. It takes a lot of time to maintain a constantly used collection in it's proper organizational structure, especially if you want ease of access.

Every collector has their own chosen way to organize what they collect. I have a large 5' x 5' square shelf unit from Ikea. I arrange my records alphabetically by either the musician or the group, and within that subset I arrange the records chronologically, which helps me place the records in context to each other. I have created filing labels to mark my collection, so the individual letter's are easy to see.

Some musical groups have a more extensive archiving. Sonic Youth, for example, have been making music together for over thirty years. Since they are my favorite band ever, I try to collect as much of their output as I can. Because of this I have divided their records up by studio releases, SYR releases, full-length bootleg releases, 12” singles, 10” singles, 7” singles, group side projects, and individual side projects, all in respective chronological order. It is where my anal-retentive obsessive side is allowed to shine. Believe me when I say my Sonic Youth collection is not yet complete.
　


# 2 - Patience

The world we live in does not place a premium on patience. Music consumption these days is no different. We want the world and we want it now. That's what Jim Morrison sang. Living that way burns one up. Jim did not make it to thirty. Collecting records is a compulsive hobby, driven by desire. Whether that desire is for the music itself, or the fetishized object that is a rare gate-fold album, it is omnipresent.

When looking for old, out-of-print records I must have the patience to look through hundreds or thousands of records before finding one I want to spend money on. I may run across multiple copies that I do not buy due to scratches, damage, etc. Sometimes I find records that I have been looking for actively for several years. I still have dozens on my personal wish list yet to find. Only patience keeps me from going crazy when looking through a record convention's worth of bins and boxes!

Apart from the acquisition of the records, the enjoyment of them requires patience. Records are fragile and need to be well-kept. Playing them requires careful handling of the media and equipment, even with the simplest turntables. Listening to records I have collected is not just about wish fulfillment. For every album I listen to and instantly connect with, there are two or three that take multiple listens, allowing for time to do it's thing on the brain. “Difficult” music, whether Ornette Coleman's Free Jazz, or Sonic Youth's Bad Moon Rising requires patience to at first understand, and then secondly to enjoy what is being given to your ears. Records, due to their nature, are more likely to be played straight through than CD's or digital media. Having a little button that instantly skips anything your ears find initially off-putting does not teach patience, but the exact opposite, a sense of entitlement due to an inflated sense of self-worth that breeds urgency and instant wish-fulfillment. Good things take time.
　

#3 – Collecting is a lonely existence

Due to it's time-consuming nature, the hobby of collecting becomes quite a solitary enterprise. The enjoyment of the collection can happen alone on in social settings, but the acquisition of the individual items is done by you alone. If you are lucky you have a few friends who are also bitten by the same collecting bug and who are willing to go with you and spend hours browsing through old, dusty, shitty records hoping you find something golden.

Even then, you may end up actually interacting with them just a few times an hour, because you are focused. You are flipping two separate boxes of records with both hands, scanning with your eyes like some sort of factory machine designed to spot imperfections, only you are looking for perfection, or at least that cool album by Miles Davis where he sang with the Muppets. (Does it actually exist?) The joys are solitary too. Those same friends you go record shopping with may scoff at your selections, and often will. The joy and pain are yours and yours alone.

As the collection grows it begins to take up actual living space around you. The pride in such a collection is again just yours alone. Your loved ones may admire and enjoy your collection but it is not their collection. It has not been built up by them through hundreds of trips to record stores, garage sales, or record conventions. Those long car trips were made by you. Those shelves or cases or boxes were arranged by you. The knowledge of it's totality exists solely in your head. As you have had to add new records to the already arranged stacks you sort through them, again and again, seeing older records as old friends, much like people see their books. You know exactly where to reach to find the real favorites among the bunch, either because you play them often or because you like to pull them out to show off to fellow collector nerds.

If you think collecting something like records or books or stamps is a lonely thing, imagine the worst aspect of collecting, those people who collect whatever is en vogue currently. For a brief period of time people such as those who collected Beanie Babies flourish among what seems like a ton of other people sharing your passion. It seems that what is being collected actually matters to normal people. The prices go through the roof for the rare ones. It can be quite a rush for some. The ride always comes to an end and usually way too soon for most people's tastes. Those collectors are then left alone, with no collecting pals, with a collection of shit they overpaid for and which will likely never see an increase in value within their lifetime. That is truly lonely.


# 4 – Value exists in your own head

Everything you value, every single tiny bit of worth you see in anything is purely a product of your own creation. How did collecting records teach me this? For one thing, record collecting shows you how value itself is an ephemeral illusion. What is worth money to one person is worthless to another. What is worth little today is a sought-after collector's item tomorrow, and vice-versa. Value does not exist independently of everything else. Value is a purely subjective idea, dependent on everything from rarity to condition to location. Because of this, record collecting needed to be about something more than just the accumulation of monetarily valuable objects for me. The value of the records lay in how I chose to think about them.

This applies to every aspect of life where value judgments must be made, and it informs what becomes meaningful to me. I am better able to understand what is really important to myself, because I know that I am the only one who sees it that way. What I find valuable in life is important because I find it valuable, not because the value is an inherent quality. This can refer to anything from Unsane's music to what restaurants I enjoy. It has allowed me to try and resist the throngs that are seemingly swept away every second of their lives by what others consider valuable. It has also sucked in that part of the joy of music is sharing the love of it with others. It is sad seeing whole chunks of one's record collection becoming slowly forgotten by the world around you.

The sad truth is that everything is forgotten in time. Even those people, places and things that become legendary are remembered erroneously, their true selves forgotten in favor of an easy to tell legend. Someone like Robert Crumb, who amassed a definitive collection of very early delta blues 78's, lives in a world within his own mind, enjoying a music that most of the world has forgotten existed. Upon an owner's death, some collections are kept intact as historical archives, others are sold off to other collectors in auctions, and yet others are disposed of as if worthless, for a collection is only important to those who know and understand it's contents. That is the ultimate loss of value, knowing that your collection may well end up discarded after your death. These thoughts come to the true hardcore collectors.

With such heavy shit it is a good thing music is so fantastic!

RXTT
January 2012

Levels of Music Love

There are three kinds of people in the world. Those who love music, those who like music, and those who do not enjoy music. That last category does not concern us. People who do not enjoy music of any form, who claim outright to dislike music, are quite the mystery in and of themselves, but let us talk instead of the differences that arise between those who love music, and those who merely like music.

A music lover will hear a new song and, if the song strikes their fancy, will then proceed to seek out more of that artist/group's music. Enjoying that, a music lover will keep an eye out for more and more of that person's music, as long as it continues to entertain them. They actively seek more, eventually amassing some type of collection of that artist/group's music. This process may take years and can allow that artist's music to become a deep and meaningful part of someone's life.

A person who merely “likes” music, as opposed to loving it, will hear a song that strikes their fancy, fall in love with it, listen to that one song constantly, suck every bit of juice out of it until it is as desiccated and tedious as a song can get, and then move on to the next tune that happens to hit their ears. Some effort may be made towards seeking more music from the same artist, but usually, once it is seen that the other songs do not sound like the one that hit them hard, that person is willing to move on to a new tune. This method of ingesting music can create some very strong sense/time memories, due to the overload of the music on the brain over such a short and intense period of time.

Once a music lover has exhausted the available music of a given artist/group, they will then investigate further. Are there other bands that sound similar, or have the same vibe whose music may be good too? Maybe this band was influenced by some musician previously unknown to you? Have these musicians ever played in other groups? Questions such as these allow for new music to expand the musical map in a music lovers brain. Previously unseen connections are brought to light. Sometimes a certain recording may become more meaningful to you, and others may lose some of their luster when compared to previous acts. One never knows what will arise but there is always more to explore. This creates a deep connection between the music lover and the musicians involved, as their individual contributions are explored and analyzed.

The “Liker” of music does not concern themselves with any of this. Instead of looking for more music by the group that made the song they heard and loved the “Liker” waits until his sources provide him with a new tune by that artist. These sources can range from their favorite radio station, to their favorite nightclub, from friends to the television. And, if the next song that comes down the pike is a stinker? No problem, because the “Liker” is not personally invested. There are more songs every day. Because the “Liker” does not actively expand their mental sonic map as the music lover does he never develops personal connections to the creators of the music itself, just to the individual songs. If an artist has a lot of hits then the music “Liker” will feel a bigger connection by virtue of exposure. Otherwise, they move on to the next hit by the next artist. Either way, the names and careers of the musicians involved in crafting the hits are unimportant, and do not factor in the “Liker's” enjoyment of the songs they like.

A music lover becomes more willing to accept musical risks taken by their favorites. They would expect nothing less. Solo records are seen as an intimate view into one member of a favored musical group. In an odd irony, music lovers also appreciate any artist who fiercely maintains one style as their own through the ever-changing musical fadscape. In other words, a music lover accepts what a musician gives them on the musician's terms. Of course it is judged and examined and compared but it is given a fair shake.

Music “Likers” sometimes infuriate music lovers because they see no value in the deeper analysis, which to them seems like an obsession with the unimportant parts of music. The “Likers” love the songs, and will love the songs forever. Music lives in the moment, more so than most other art forms. Recorded music is not music until it is vibrating the air through some mechanism or other. It is to be enjoyed in the moment, to be danced to, to serve as the background to life. This is a different and quite valid joy, but it does not allow for one's brain to interact with the minds making the music, only to react.

There is no correct way to enjoy music. There are only more ways to enjoy music. Everyone begins as a music “Liker.” Even people who consider themselves musically sophisticated originally just listened to what they liked and sought nothing more. Liking music is the first step to loving music. It is not always easy to be a music lover, and a lot is asked of you if you are one, but like all things, the reward is as great as what is put into it. Music is humanity’s best friend and deserves to be loved.

RXTT
January 2012

The Fine Line Between Collecting and Hoarding

Almost everyone, at some point in their lives, has amassed a collection of something. Some choose baseball cards, others postage stamps, and yet others collect driftwood. The possibilities are endless for collecting. A collection does not have to have any inherent monetary value. It can be a collection for purely emotional value. Most collections however, straddle both these worlds.

Take, for example, someone who collects vinyl records, as I do. There are items in my collection that are prized for their rarity, or the cost incurred in acquiring the item. Others are prized because the music contained within is emotionally important to me. Yet others are kept because of the cover art, or innovative packaging. This is true for most types of collecting.

The trick lies in knowing when a collection is complete, or as complete as you are gonna get. There are only so many Sonic Youth records one can acquire, before it becomes more of an exercise in completism than an enjoyable pastime. There are only so many shoes a woman can buy before the ridiculousness of hundreds of pairs for just one pair of feet becomes self-evident. Many collectors fear this. Once they have amassed the collection, it is more favorable to them to then sell it to others, allowing the new owners the same thrill they received previously. They then go on to collect something else. Even if they do not get rid of the previous collection, they begin with a new collection right away.

Many collectors have several groupings of things they collect. The greatest collectors will go on to donate their collections to museums or institutes of higher learning, allowing the public to share in their acquisitions. Others hold onto them with a strong grip, to the grave. These are the collectors who blur the line between collecting and hoarding. They become so obsessed with acquiring any and all ephemera associated with their particular collecting “jones” that they lose sight of the true goal, which is to take enjoyment from the collected items! Certain people get so protective of their collections that they barricade themselves in their home, adding layers of security, until they must feel like they are living in a prison of their own making.

The odd part is that while two people may share the exact same delusional drive to collect,the one that gets anal-retentive and creates displays and keeps his items spotless and in perfect condition, all sterile and unused, the masses see as normal! The people who clutter their lives with the collected items, whose homes look more like a child's room than a museum, are seen as warped, sick, maybe needing help of some sort. While they are both worlds apart in appearance, their inner lives are probably very much alike. It is a near-delusion, the mania of a collector in the full throes of the hunt, and not for the faint of heart.

Is it that a person who hoards seems to give no thought to the actual care and maintenance of what they hoard? Collectors take great care in buying the right furniture to display their collections, oftentimes having cases and shelves custom made. Hoarders seem to be satisfied with the ownership of an object, and do not seek to properly organize. Their organization mainly consists of grouping like items together, with no consideration to the decay or damage caused to the hoarded material. A collector would be shocked at such ill treatment of their prized possessions. Where does the line exist? It may be a far blurrier line than ever imagined.

RXTT
January 2012