Archetypal Bliss:

It's the Season Finale

2009-03-11T13:58:00.000-07:00

Hardaway & The Commoners will host their Season Finale at George's Majestic Lounge in Fayetteville this Saturday night featuring many special guests and an unbelievable night of Organic Hip-Hop Music. You're not going to want to miss this one! The show starts at 9PM and will continue on the George's back stage until 1AM. This will be the last local appearance by The Commoners before they record an upcoming album.

The Commoners will be accompanied by an up and coming indie trio, Hosta. Followed by Hometown Swagger, as this will be their debut performance at George's Majestic Lounge. There will also be a special guest performance by the lyrical mastermind, Black P.R.O.F.I.T., from Houston, Texas.

We hope to see you all there this Saturday! For more information about George's Majestic visit www.georgesmajesticlounge.com. Be sure to also visit www.commonersband.com for the latest in tour dates, MP3's, and videos.

The Commoners Featured in the University of Arkansas Traveler

2009-03-10T14:17:00.000-07:00

Brittany Arroyos of the U of A Traveler recently published an article featuring Archetype Records' own, Hardaway & The Commoners. The article interviews Colin Hardaway as he discusses his decision to sign with a new label. Thanks for the great article Brittany!

To read the full featured article click here: The Arkansas Traveler: UA Student's Hip-Hop Collective Band Signs with Record Label

Movin' to the Eastside

2009-03-03T13:07:00.000-08:00

It has been one crazy beginning to a year alright and it doesn’t look like things will be letting up any time soon! Well, the craziness is not all bad. In fact, we are very pleased to announce that Archetype Productions and Scribe Marketing will be moving to the Square in downtown Fayetteville! We are currently in the process of renovating our 550 square foot space on Mountain Street. After we get the place all dolled up, rest assured we will be breaking it in with a proper gathering for our grand opening.

The new office is located on 7 ½ E. Mountain Street in Fayetteville, adjacent to the Square. Take the stairs to the immediate left of DDP Gallery and we will be in the back suite on the second floor.

Photo Courtesy of Stephanie Mallicote

Photos via Europa 2008

2008-11-02T04:31:00.001-08:00

I nostri primi giorni a Milano

2008-10-22T08:22:00.000-07:00

Spankin' New Designs

2008-08-28T14:37:00.000-07:00

Here's a brief look at a few of many exciting projects Archetype Productions has been involved in within the last few months. Stay tuned for many more to come. Enjoy!

AP's Origami Commercial

2008-07-20T21:25:00.000-07:00

Whew

2008-05-05T13:32:00.000-07:00

The sale was an absolute success! Thanks to all those who came out and enjoyed the beautiful day with us. We couldn't have managed the exhausting day without the hospitality of our curious friends.

Digging the Crates of Wes Anderson and the Classic

2008-04-07T09:42:00.000-07:00

Since the release of Wes Anderson's Rushmore, I have been captivated by his ability to create and maintain a beautiful aesthetic in his films. His taste in quirky, yet, simplistic design, aligned with brilliant storytelling and an infatuation with classic artifacts, has developed into a 'beast of burden' to unconventional approaches to Hollywood films.

It seems that everyone who enjoys Anderson's films may have a different take on why they are drawn to them. Today I did a little "digging in the crates," so to speak, to put together why I am personally intrigued by the films directed by Wes Anderson. Here are just a few examples:

1.) The Voyage of the Mimi
The Voyage of the Mimi was an educational video series that made it's debut to elementary schools across America in 1984. It was as predictable, cheesy, and the highlight of my 10A.M. science class with Mrs. Faulkner. The 20 part series conquered the many enthralling elements of the deep sea via the Mimi- the ship that housed the crew for over a year. It's "Life Aquatic," and forever burned into my memory as the anthem to 5th grade at Washington Elementary school.

#19 The Mimi Shipwrecked (staring, that's right, a little Ben Affleck- this was probably his best film)

2.) Jacques Cousteau
And who could forget Jacques Cousteau? A master celestial navigation and the deep sea. A PBS icon and the hero marine biology. Remember VHS and portable TV's? Of course, Anderson was heavenly influenced by the Cousteau and is quite open to this, watching Cousteau's voyages today is heavily reminiscent my childhood.

Does this scene look familiar?

3.) The Incredible String Band
Although The Incredible String Band never made it into Anderson's soundtracks, it should have. They were gems lost in the crates of my Dad's old vinyl collection and now a common rotation in my listening cue. . Darjeeling Limited? Why not?

Spring in the Wine Country

2008-04-04T09:09:00.000-07:00

Images taken from Healdsburg, California.

First and Foremost

2008-02-26T09:39:00.000-08:00

Lo and behold, I am updating my blog! My time has been completely consumed by a website renovation amongst other projects on the plate. Nevertheless, March will host a plethora of developments from Archetype Productions. A few of mention:

March 20th: (First day of spring). Yeah, it's cold. Over the years I have developed an overwhelming interest in warm(er) climates. Not that I am anti-winter. I'm just anti-not-spring. In honor of the approaching and long awaited, "greener on the other side," time of year and state of mind, I have chosen March 20th as the release date for the new Archetype Productions website. The site will offer a full line of new productions/paraphernalia including apparel, screen-prints, a new book, photography, and more. So mark the calender and check-it-out.

April 24th: Presenting, "A La Mode" fashion exposition. Archetype Productions will participate in "A La Mode" hosted at the University of Arkansas student union in April. This production will feature many artists of the area and designers who specialize in several mediums. AP will have a t-shirt line designed and printed just for the occasion. Items will be available for purchase after the show.

April T.B.A: AP will host a tribute to the late-great Fela Kuti. A few of the most respected musicians around will come together for one night to to perform some of the funkiest afrobeat tunes your ears will ever be exposed to. We're bringing the Lagos to the south! Date to be announced.

Stay tuned for these events and more coming this spring.

An-Archetypal-Book

2007-12-27T11:47:00.000-08:00

Alas, old man winter has arrived, and this is the time of year when my seemingly endless 'to-do' list[s] are executed with plenty of warm blankets, dark coffee, and good spirits as we approach the beginning of another year. This month I published my first book, The Rucksack Accessories, depicting my last two years of travel abroad. The book features many ramblings and photographs from a few of my favorite locations via Italy, Spain, and New Zealand.

Next month I will be publishing my thesis ethnography of Maori contemporary music in Aotearoa (New Zealand). It will feature my interviews and investigations conducted in the months spent 'down under' listening and interacting with an endangered Maori society.

The Rucksack Accessories is available for purchase online. The ethnography will also be available at the end of January 2008.

La Jetée: 1968

2007-12-04T07:14:00.000-08:00

This is perhaps one of the most innovative short films I have watched to date. La Jetée was produced in 1968, and was a breakthrough for experimental cinema. It runs just over twenty minutes and consists, with the exception of one scene, entirely of still photography. The film largely inspired Terry Gilliam's Scifi hit, Twelve Monkeys. The archetypal themes and captivating images help make this early film an instant classic.

In the movie, the survivors of a destroyed Paris in the aftermath of World War III live underground in the Palais de Chaillot galleries. They research time travel, hoping to send someone back to before the devastating war to recover food, medicine, or energy for the present, "to summon the past and future to the aid of the present". The traveler is a male prisoner; his vague but obsessive childhood memory of witnessing a woman (Hélène Chatelain) during a violent incident on the boarding platform ("The Jetty") at Orly Airport is used as the key to his journey back in time. He is thrown back to the past again and again. He repeatedly meets and speaks to the woman who was present at the terminal. After his successful passages to the past, the experimenters attempt to send him into the deep future. In a brief meeting with the technologically advanced people of the future, he is given a power unit sufficient to regenerate his own destroyed society. On his return, he is cast aside by his imprisoners to die. Before he can be executed, he is contacted by the people of the future, who offer to help him escape to their time, but he asks to be returned to his childhood. He is returned and finds the violent incident he partially witnessed as a child was his own death as an adult. [Plot excerpt taken from Wikipedia.com]

थे न्यू फ्रोंतिएर

2007-10-18T10:52:00.000-07:00

PC IV: The Lost Frontier-

The beginning of fall has sparked my mental production circuit (I have been anxiously awaiting its arrival). With that being said, here is a preview of my next mocumentary manuscript in the making. Stay tuned for further updates.

Dream log: list one

2007-09-25T08:18:00.000-07:00

1.) Finding myself at the tables inside indigo-lit fluorescent casinos, I had come to realize that my money had been gambled and lost. It was ten dollars and that was all I had. I walked out of the building unassumingly only to realize that my rental van had been stolen, or confiscated by Toyota. I found the man in charge. You know, the Dinero type with a three-piece suite and a look like he new what everyone was thinking. He was his own god. "My car has been stolen,” I said. "Look see, we'll take care of you; you know your business is always welcome here." He treated me well, especially since I had just given a grand $10 back in his pockets. Another flamboyant, large man in a blue suite handed me my golf clubs that had been discarded in the parked lot. I thanked him. I then looked out side as I notice a group of vandals broke into the casino wearing black masks and equipped with small clubs. It was bloodshed. All I could do was watch as turmoil erupted and men were thrown like dolls. I was in a room watching the big screen and saw a man with a missing tooth on a commercial. I assumed he was Brazilian and played in the world football circuit. He had one catch phrase: "Kids, robbing casinos is not cool". The wind was in his hair. This was to be taken seriously.

2.) I walked from the corridor as I was readjusting my pinstriped suit. Calm, cool, collective. I wasn't quite sure what I had just done; nevertheless, I could sense the hostility as I approached the red hallway. Without noise or hesitation, there were two loaded guns pointed at my neck. "Where's the third one?" I asked. I couldn't lose my cool. The highest degree of valor must be maintained. The perpetrators faces remained out of the picture, however, "I think I know what's going on." A closed empty room was occupied by one finely dressed ban reading a piece of literature on the ground. The room was well lit and the door was close. A coat hanger the size of a large man casually crept under the doorframe moving slowly towards the unassuming man. It wanted the book. And with a firm swoop, the coat hanger prevailed. The man was startled and he jumped up with on motion and started chasing after hanger. He had no face and had appeared to have lost his head in the process. I was presented poker chips at a round table while my friends had enticed me to play a round. I was skeptical before I realized there were four aces in the flop. "Does Jan see this hand?" I thought. I kept fumbling my cards like my life was on the line. "Did he see?" The river was thrown and I had three sixes. "I won,” said Jan. His face disgruntled, he knew I was the victor. I didn't even know how to play poker, especially with rolling dice and sixes.

3.) "This town holds structure," I thought. Buses were systematically turning right on the minute, the streets fashioned in symmetrical grids slanted atop a long inclination of earth. My father was precariously directing traffic of the elderly into a building with many windows. I could not however, see anything inside. "What is this?" I assumed this situation should not be taken lightly as I felt my father had been subject a cult nationalistic society of old people and he had been appointed their governor of crown. I waived to get his attention but he resisted familiarity of the past. I was his son, but this had all been lost as I felt he had seeped far into the brainwashing by these sick and twisted elderly individuals. But I understood. He was youthful and sharp, spirited. I tried find my way inside but the body guard had resisted my attempt. He was fowl. I could smell the stench of the morbid past-life he had once engaged in. Nevertheless, he was calmer in his mature age and I recognized this. I found my way to some bleachers with my German friend and someone I hadn't met before. We were observing a film, yet, it was happening in realism in front of our eyes. My friends were convinced they had seen it before and could plausibly predict the occurrences between two individuals captured on the set. I was put off by this live invention of the past and seemed to value the abilities of my colleagues.

4.) I was waken by the ring of my phone. I answered and to my dismay, it was Dan calling to inform that he had traveled to New Zealand and was now back at his home in the South. He seemed provocative and uncomfortably giddy. The kind of nervous laugh you hear that expresses a sentiment no one could possibly convey verbally. I understood; We hung up without words and I thought it was best to check up on my plants. They had been growing in an aquarium-like incubator but I couldn't remember putting them there. "What is this.." "What is this strange light within this dark room?" I didn't know. Two flowers emerged from the muck infested waters beneath. I touched them and they wilted instantaneously. I reached my hand beneath the water to make sure the mushrooms hadn't the same effect. They were shapely and I assumed they could be salvaged.

5.) Walking through haze I realized it was indeed a beach I had stumbled upon. A river crept through a giant mass of a seemingly perfect indentation of the earth. My friend was gone but I continued to look for him. In fact, I believe it was Sharon I met who told me of my friends recent departure. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The house he once resided in, the family I came to associate with my childhood all too well, the thousands of memories I had in that dilapidated, yet comforting house in the historic district was now being abandoned for a better life in Switzerland. "But why Switzerland? Why now?" I thought. Could it be that this land has reached the final end of its exploited happiness? I couldn't understand why it must be let go and why these dear friends of mine sought the new with contrived notions of settling upon the 'new frontier' of ideological soundness. "I should buy this house, preserve what may and will be lost." It was at this time that I came to realize I had no money, and the house was empty, the wood floors were cold, and light seeped through the windows like it always had.

2007-09-24T10:31:00.000-07:00

Nice weekend indeed

2007-09-03T06:51:00.000-07:00

Despite my last minute organization, the slide presentation at Scarpino's was a complete success. I can't say I was prepared for the feeling I got when my photographs were accompanied by a live soundtrack. Drew, Nathan, and Wes' playing was enough send a few chills down my back as I was able to relive nearly every moment captured on that projector screen. Albeit, Saturday provided me with enough incentive to try to do it again sometime!

Gettin' the wild eye

2007-08-24T20:40:00.000-07:00

I guess it hasn't felt like much of a summer this year- what with spending the majority of my time wielding words for some thesis and worrying about my next venture across the globe. It's the Fayettenam' blues....there are some things I love about this town though. In fact I was just interrupted from writing moments ago as a friend whom I hadn't seen in nearly a year knocked on my door with a guitar in his hand and a wide grin on his face. I couldn't be more delighted to engage in a once ritual jam on my front porch with an old friend. I suppose that's what it is all about. We don't need much of a catchup. Picking up where we left off is more my style. I took a stroll through the streets the other night thinking about how things just keep on movin' in this town and how the moon is as round as a banjo more than 12 significant moments a year. I guess I am contented with these statistics. And I can always rely on a friend to show up at my place on the hill when the time is right. I also believe the time has come for the summer to take its toll on my daily occurrences and in the upcoming weeks I will be hitting the road westbound via the high country, Colorado, for an over due trek through my favorite mountains. It's really the sound of those mountains I remember best. Or perhaps, the lack of- as I think thoughts of few and far between with a fly-rod in my hand and a number 18 adams on the other end, gazing my wide eye at those wild browns as they dwell under the canopy of the aspens. These are the summers I remember best and the ones that keep me movin' through the Western America in search for my piece of mind and a prolific turkey sandwich at the little shack just at the foothills of Maroon Bells National Forest.

Little Superstar

2007-08-05T21:37:00.000-07:00

I can't believe I've gone this long without experiencing this clip. Thanks JB. The second viewing was even more enlightening than the first. Seriously where do people find this stuff?

9.01.07

2007-08-04T20:51:00.001-07:00

Well, many have asked if I was going to have a slide show of my recent New-Zealand excursion. Thanks to a few individuals who have forced me to get my act together regarding the showing, I now have a finalized date. Anyway, maybe one or two of you might find it interesting. My buddy Drew Packard and his associate colleagues of musical experimentation will be providing one hell of a soundtrack for the show. And, of course, it's free. It will start soon after 7pm. Hope to see you there.

Update:

2007-07-24T18:35:00.001-07:00

a.) Le Tour de France 07' is the best race I have witnessed in years

b.) My prolificness, if I had any to begin with, is now certainly exploited in a seventy page document that I will turn in to a my committee tomorrow. There's nothing left but coffee hangovers and dazed recollections of my previous two months at this point

c.) Next week I will start my new job: teaching little tikes to play the guitar (this is going to be sweet)

d.) Planning a road trip westbound

e.) Listening to more 'Grand Master Flash' than I can handle

f.) Giggin'

(The smoke-and-go not too popular these days)

Homage:

2007-07-13T17:36:00.000-07:00

Because sometimes you just have to pay it.

Keepin' it Boss:

2007-07-11T19:45:00.001-07:00

Just working on my soundsystem credibility.

Rastafari!

2007-07-05T17:54:00.000-07:00

Yes, I am responsible for this.

Mt. Olympus Nevermore

2007-07-03T03:14:00.000-07:00

Perhaps one of the most renowned residential structures in Fayetteville and my place of residency for the previous four years, Mt Olympus, has recently reached its ill-fated destiny atop the hill on Forest Ave. Upon my return to my hometown I learned that the previous landlord had finally sold this old haggard abode to the two neighbors on either side of Olympus in a joint contract. This my friends, would mark the beginning of the end to an established lineage of resident occupancy since the 1960’s and everything in between. And it was ‘everything in between’ that made this house what is- what it was.

It was once called the ‘moon house’ as the moon would frequent a break through the tree line when the clock hit midnight. It survived hundreds of unadulterated fiestas; ten years ago, there was even an acknowledgement by the Fayetteville Police Department. A surprise exceeding $80,000 worth of uncultivated herb plants waiting for their occupant in apartment 4 to take advantage of time spent. This of course, never happened. From 95’-99’ The tenants would commonly find industrial cable spools the size of small cars to set fire to and role down Maple street in some act of fanatical exhilaration-Olympus to only fuel these tangents of pure madness. It survived chimney fires gone wrong, rodents moma’s taking over the bowels of her walls, and the rodents moma’s –moma’s before them. It witnessed everything from car crashes, broken legs, fist fights, love making, to guitar playing, time killing, grass woddling, tree climbing, wall punching, paint changing, hair manging, flea biting, bar-b-cuing fandangos. Not to mention, ceiling leaking, keg pounding, hair cutting, book reading, head standing, naked drumming, trash swapping, and knee slapping blues. Yes, if these walls could speak, they would never stop. And with nearly fifty years of tenants under it’s belt, it’s lived to tell quite a story.

And now I sit here writing with the understanding that my time at old’ Olympus has come to a close. For four years I have made it a point to come back here. Come back to home really. I have traveled across the world a few times over to return to my dilapidated apartment at 503 Forest Ave that always felt just right. And I guess for the first time I feel as though I am losing a home. And for the first time, I feel as though my time in Fayetteville has drawn to a close as I am now finishing up my thesis and the place on the hill will soon turn back to a single family residence it once was at the brink of the Cold War. But, as the saying goes-everything must come to a close and this is perhaps the most crucial realization I have come to understand.

So long Olympus!

Mark Mothersbaugh = Genius

2007-06-27T10:15:00.000-07:00

A lot of people don't like to be confronted with stark truths about their lives, even when they're delivered by five guys wearing plastic flowerpots on their heads.

"The Roots Crew, That's as Good as it Gets"

2007-06-12T10:59:00.000-07:00

Yes, back in the bear town. Em and Jay treated me to a little home-welcoming with a night at the Harmony festival just outside of Healdsburg. Front row-center for a little bass thumpin-lovin' from the Quest himself.

Respect.

Green party fandago's, patch-work pants, novelty sized 'tea' pipes, intergalactic transcendentalism, enough weed to put the 'medicinal' back in marijuana, girls on stilts, dread-dread-dread, 6 dollar beers, and one epic Roots crew set. Yes, back in north-cal indeed.

You Will Be Missed:

2007-06-08T20:30:00.000-07:00

Perhaps my departure hasn't quite phased me yet as I am now gazing at this flat city through the scope of the Auckland airport. I realized last night that I would be lying if I said I was a 'goodbye' person, yet I couldn't feel but a little discontented as I hung my head out of the passenger side window, waving my hat in the air as if I was gone forever; my friends slowly disappearing from my sight on the very street that I first encountered most of them.

I have seemed to forget how small this country really is. I ran into some friends in Wellington on the North island, I sat next to the sea caption of the Doubtful Sound Cruiser I had set sail on the previous month, now on my way to Auckland. I noticed for the first time that he was missing his ring finger and his hand was course and haggard. His hands told his story for him. The captain explained to me the procedures of the season, a man who was responsible for the lives of thousands in his years at sea now assumes the position of a passenger aboard a jet plane just like me. Sometimes I think about these strange little webs of life and knowing that we are individuals living through the same battles and walking the same paths to the same destinations.

I really wish to believe that I will see these people again, in another time and another space. Not to be all emotional about this sort of thing but it’s something to think about. I have done it before yet this doesn't make it any easier I suppose. Last night I spent my final moments with my friends I wouldn't know if I would ever see again. We smoked Cuban cigars with a cup of wine in our hands, trying to keep warm from the old man winter. Stefan cooked up some of his 'world famous' chili con carne and we all indulged in the spicy meal in the brisk night. Santiago and I discussed rambling his country and having me spend some time in his hometown of Mexico. Lindsey and Emily made their farewells as I promised to keep in touch and head down to Austin one of these days. Lena gave me a harmonica and a bag of M&M's, a gift well suiting for any rucksack wonderer, whoever he may be. I wouldn't see her for at least a half a year, as she will soon be departing for Greece. I signed away 'the Helena', our old jalopy to Andre and shook his hand as he fled off into the night. Eric and Luke made me some pancakes in the early morning; we performed the haka one last time, discussed the way of the samurai, being now, being 'here'. I didn't have an answer, nor did I pretend to. I will hope to find them still in Tennessee one later summer. Meg and Miranda escorted me to the Dunedin airport. I knew I couldn't ask for anything more and had the feeling of a contented state knowing I couldn't have had a better flat mate my time abroad. Fatima and Pauline promised a future encounter via the hills of Sweden and the cityscapes of Paris.

I walked home last night and snow fell in Dunedin for the first time of the season. I remembered I had left my hometown in Arkansas, also on the first snow of the season. Now I sit and finally have time to think. And many thoughts I have now approached. With that being said, my destination calls me and I will arrive in just 13 hours from now, on the other side of the world in that western America, again. California... CALIFORNIA.

Dunedin Jazz Ensemble via the Refuel: The So Long

2007-06-05T19:17:00.001-07:00

Ain't nothing like these musty basements of the Jazz underground:

Twas the final gig of the semester. Farewell friends! It's been real.

This guy can blow.

"Hey kid, nice chops"

"I Wonder If..."

2007-05-29T17:45:00.001-07:00

Thesis hangovers and the mustache bluesers.

Un Moment en Mer:

2007-05-23T16:56:00.000-07:00

Mon bon Margot d'ami,

He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish. In the first forty days a boy had been with him. But after forty days without a fish the boy's parents had told him that the old man was now definitely and finally salao, which is the worst form of unlucky, and the boy had gone at their orders in another boat which caught three good fish the first week.
It made the boy sad to see the old man come in each day with his skiff empty and he always went down to help him carry either the coiled lines or the gaff and harpoon and the sail that was furled around the mast. The sail was patched with flour sacks and, furled, it looked like the flag of permanent defeat.

The old man was thin and gaunt with deep wrinkles in the back of his neck. The brown blotches of the benevolent skin cancer the sun brings from its reflection on the tropic sea were on his cheeks. The blotches ran well down the sides of his face and his hands had the deep-creased scars from handling heavy fish on the cords. But none of these scars were fresh. They were as old as erosions in a fishless desert.

Everything about him was old except his eyes and they were the same color as the sea and were cheerful and undefeated.

De croire à l'assurance de votre considération distinguée,
William T. Collins
(via M.T.S.)

The Aftermath:

2007-05-17T18:17:00.000-07:00

Leith Street Rioting

The Rumors are True:

2007-05-13T21:32:00.000-07:00

I didn't know if I really wanted to believe that the 'Milford Sound' track could be rated amongst the top five hikes in the world. With figures exceeding 14,000 visitors a year on the trail during the peak season, I became a skeptic of how good it could ACTUALLY be. Nevertheless, I had to wait four months before I could hike it as it usually books up a year in advance.
This is when I note to myself: (Note to self: when in doubt, do everything in the off season).

The usual suspects.

The result: perfect days, an unbelievable landscape with only a few travelers compared to the 160 on any given day during the peak season. The track may be only accessed by boat to and from the trailheads, providing scenic views of million year old glacial 'hangovers' as the ocean has slowly seeped through the hills and into this enormous body of water over thousands of years.

This is Stefan, 26; German, optimist, chaos theorist. Enjoys bread in the mornings and rolling cigarettes.

It's true; the track is well worth the time and effort, if ye ever yanders to the Zealand, of course. I am beginning to realize that it seems as though (judging by my previously posted photos) I have no home. In fact, contrary to appearances I do have a home, I just choose not to live in it that often. And how can I when this is at my backdoor? I guess it will be hard to leave these hills, albeit, this was to be expected.

Trek a la Mt Cook

2007-05-07T00:23:00.000-07:00

All of life is a foreign country? Jk

Mt. Cook

2007-05-05T16:23:00.000-07:00

Nelson

The Wayest Side:

2007-05-01T01:46:00.000-07:00

There are probably a few things worth mentioning about towns structured upon a foundation of patchouli, bad murals, and unpredictable business hours. I found that my recent trip to the Golden Bay of the northernmost tip of the South island had only reinforced my previous notions of what to expect when one is plundering into these hamlets of post-post-modern-alternativeness.

The first variable to always expect, and perhaps most importantly: excellent food; and with good reason. Smoking weed and running record shops makes one tired, very tired, and hungry. Who wants to settle for anything less but the best food available after a hard days work? Rest assured it will be organic. And I forfeit the use of my sarcasm when I say "organic is better". It tastes better, looks better, smells better. It's good, and to my dismay, babies are even doing it. Now you will find little 'Gerber' like jars entitled with the catch phrase: "my organic baby," followed by a picture of an exceptionally giddy little munchkin as he clearly shows he would not settle for anything less than his organic-brown- mush waiting to be spoon-fed by his 'organic' mother. A few honorable mentions:

East Meets West Cafe: Sebastopol, California; Turkey burger is suggested (free-range of course)
The Secret Stash: Crested Butte, Colorado; Best pizza you will ever have (and this time it's true)
The Dangerous Kitchen: Golden Bay, New Zealand; A hodge-podge of finally crafted archetypal 'worldly' cuisine.
Greenhouse Grille: Fayettenam, AR; Yeah, good food.
The Mean Bean Coffee House, Springdale, Utah; can’t beat the baking.

My ventures north made me realize I have nothing against these small towns at the unprecedented nexus between business and leisure. Perhaps more pleasure. I mean, the rule of thumb: The 'organic' yields the 'alternative,' nevertheless, these two in unison will provide the high fedelity-esk music shops and gurus you couldn't find anywhere else in the world. And who needs anything more? On the other hand, I think I'll hold out before I dive into this paradigm of "no bad days" mentality. No ugly, no spice. And I guess that's all I have to say about that.

The Sphere Stones via Low Tide: Otago

2007-04-28T15:54:00.000-07:00

Kingsley 'Ned' Zissou, 29. Junior Grade Diving Tech, executive producer; Energetic, spirited, youthful.

The Handlebar Mustache

2007-04-22T02:53:00.000-07:00

Maori ethnographic research? Success.

I assumed I could pretty much wrap it up after that. I tried to call my baby to tell her the good news but there was something wrong with my line:

Let me show you my office:

2007-04-17T18:40:00.000-07:00

"I learned never to empty the well of my writing, but always to stop when there was still something there in the deep part of the well, and let it refill at night from the springs that fed it" -Ernest Hemingway

If the sight of left-over poker chips and three cups of emptied coffee mugs as the clock approaches the digits of dawn isn't incentive enough to resign my work for the evening, then I don't know what is. Perhaps next time I will more closely consider the words of ol' Hem'.

"Soundness"

2007-04-10T21:51:00.001-07:00

Milford Sound

Aotearoa and "Black Coffee, Thanks"

2007-04-06T22:31:00.000-07:00

I guess at times I fail to realize just how damn isolated this place really is. These islands are comprised of nearly 4 million people, these people are off-set by a respectable 35 to 1 sheep to human ratio during the high season, moving southbound the most prominant coastal critter is the black-eyed penguin. Beyond this coast you will find yourself just a few sum-odd clicks from the southern pole, while the closest land mass other than the most desolate place on earth is the Australasia region just northwest of the South island.

"uh hi; my name is will. sweet"

In a land with a completely homogenized culture, where kids sport their AC/DC t-shirts, the pruned mull extending admirably to the mid-collar bone at times, an 80's sub-culture interacting with the 'Britmacian' dub 'soundsystem' performances, nostalgia for some Caribbean past-time that never quite made it further south than the parameters of Oceania. All the while, I am down here trying the figure out this system of cultural exchange, political disfigurations of the Treaty of Waitangi, which has occurred over one hundred years ago, this colonial hangover that has seemingly melded itself into a soup of unadulterated bliss. I ask many questions and I am slowly beginning to understand what it means to be a New Zealander. At least that is the impression I wish to withhold. In the mean time, I drink enough coffee to keep me anticipating more answers. It's easy, just "pray the coffee." This is advice I have taken into consideration relayed from a good friend of mine. I still am not quite sure what this means, nevertheless, rest assured I have thought about it.

Traveling usually lends many exhausting and delightful moments. I could not be more fortunate to undertake the opportunity to drive ten minutes from my flat, catch the good surf by mid-day, make a fire by the coastal caves while enjoying an avocado and cheese panini, jumping on some climbing routes just around the bed, while savoring, just for a moment, the sun as she falls to the Northern Hemisphere.

But, just what am I doing here? This is a question I could not possibly answer at the moment. I do know, New Zealand is a wonderful place and filled with a kind of environment I couldn’t possibly understand in its entirety. And as I travel this landmass spanning no greater than the state of Colorado, I realize these surrounding seas I once pinpointed as the other side of world, really ain’t that far away after all. I suppose this proposition first hit me as I sifted through some vinyl at the local Dunedin record shop finding hits from the ‘Red Clay Ramblers’ and two albums of Boz Skaggs (yeah that’s right Cara, your uncle has left his mark on Aetearoa via the southern hemisphere). I didn’t even have that kind of luck in one of the largest record shops in the Bay Area.

For now, I will push pin Roberta Flack and her magnificent fro from her debut album cover on the wall of my flat-room, put on some “12 Tribe of Israel,” a Maori fusion group claiming roots to Pacific-Rastafarianism, cook up an espresso, and theorize: “WTF?” Pray the coffee.

The Son of a Greens-Keeper

2007-03-31T16:24:00.000-07:00

Ah, air again. After being confined to my flat for nearly a couple of weeks, I had almost reached some state of near hysteria. I thought about removing articles on my walls because it was reminding me of being ill; I decided in its stead (insanity) that it was time to 'eradicate' myself from the premises and get some rays on my skin. Some friends and I took off south towards the Catlands on the southeastern coastline. The surf was ample and the sun was good and plenty.

Fatima and Pauline at "Nugget Point"

I havn’t played a round of golf in about four years; I guess most people don’t know that golf was a huge part of my childhood, “the son of a greens-keeper.” Learning this knowledge, Jan insisted I join him for a round at the local club. It wasn’t long before I was reminiscing of the many days I spent with my sticks out at my dad’s workplace, following him around as he put in the sprinkler heads amongst those Arkansas summer days. In fact, the following night, I was even dreaming about hand-mowing the greens; after all, I did do this seasonally for a couple of years. I would put money that I am still able to cut one hell of a green. And after four and a half years of not touching a club, I shot a 44 on the back nine. Ok, it's not that great but I could have done worse. A lot worse?

(I think I three putted).

Chicken Anyone?

2007-03-26T23:10:00.000-07:00

This is what I feel like.

Ok friends, please take note: food poisoning? Not fun. I have been painstakingly bound to my flat whereas all I wish to do is curl up in my down comforter, suckle on my thumb, and hope my pain will cease upon my next awakening. I am watching New Zealand television (this is punishment enough), while being reduced to eating saltine crackers and drinking copious amounts of water, peeing every five minutes. Class? Forget about it. Thesis? Laughable. Dignity? Already disposed of six days ago. All the while Dunedin is hosting some of the most brilliant autumn days of the year. Mom, where are you?

Congelación; Gel; Frieren; Bloody-Freezing

2007-03-18T14:50:00.000-07:00

What might one Mexicano, two Germans, a french girl, and one gringo-americano have in common? Well, at least one epic night caught in a snowstorm near the routeburn track, and our 'new' 88' Nissan Sentra 5-door hatchback with her exotic-blancinita finish (215,000km) to take us there. That's right. For $800 NZ bones you too could own one of these fine pieces of foreign machinery. It took a few hours of getting used to driving on the left hand side of the road and what I would refer to the passenger seat of the car, shifting with the left hand and driving with the right. Nevertheless, we made the trip without mishap. Barely.

"This is the new freedom... Toyota 2008"

"Yeah that's nice"

"I think there's a storm coming"

Note to self: Never be a climbing guide. The downside of owning appropriate gear for appropriate situation is being appointed the group's personal Sherpa for the next few days. I guess I should of reevaluated the situation before taking a Mexicano of the Pacific up some haggard pass through the chills of New Zealands first seasonal snow storm.

"Deseo realmente que trajera los calcetines buenos."

The Sweet Spot:

2007-03-10T17:29:00.000-08:00

More bummage. Savouring the final moments of those summer rays.

2007-03-07T17:39:00.000-08:00

The Aspiring

2007-03-04T21:28:00.000-08:00

It was nearly a quarter past five before we set out for our shortly anticipated trip westbound towards New Zealand’s second tallest peak, Mt. Aspiring. Eric and I caught a ride out of the city limits, stuck our thumbs and pointed them by the way of the Southern Alps, the last point of elevation before one finds himself at the brink of the Pacific Ocean. Knowing our chances were considerably slim to find Wanaka at dusk, the closest mountain town and nearly four hours away, we constructed a makeshift sign conducting many unusual faces from the standard passer-byers via highway 80, Dunedin.

We did arguably have some of the best chocolate in the Southern hemisphere and a few pieces later we found ourselves being picked up by a kid, and aspiring professional golfer of the South Pacific circuit, all the way to his hometown, Wanaka. I paid little mind to the three hours of atrocious tunes, miscommunication, and fowl upholstery, as the drive was amongst the most scenic route I have ever encountered, nevertheless, ‘Mitch’ was gracious enough to take us to the other side of the country for nothing more than a piece of chocolate. “Fine, just, fine.” It was indeed, and Eric and I had ourselves a light meal of several pesto-tomato-cheese sandwiches, enjoyed the free accommodations compliments of our late arrival into the town, and slept like children, ready for our ascent the following morning.

Although the trail-head was only 30km from our camp, it took an exhausting and timely trip to get there with three different rides and too much time on the curb of one lonely stretch of less-traveled asphalt. "Well, I guess this is what it's all about. Wait and go, win and lose, up and down in the fanatical modes of living life." Agreed; and sooner or later we were tramping along the crescent of Mt. Aspiring, her livid mug staring us straight in the eyes and the wind blustering up the canyon, so young, yet dauntless in captivating formations. We set up camp at the base of the ascent by the afternoon and enjoyed our half day queued by the riversides

We woke at 6am the following morning, checked the conditions of the pass and hit the trail, straight up. Now I have climbed a mountain or two in my short day, and I believe whole heartedly that I can do this in a reasonably prompt fashion. Little did I realize the potential of the ‘6’8 skinny express’ that may be closely associated to my friend Eric (not to be mistaken for any of the extinct mega fauna of the Pacific). Damnation this guy can move. Our pace exceeded swiftness, yet, for granted stupidity. With every sweat blistering step my mind become more lucid; an orchestra of thoughts consumed my mind, thoughts I knew had to be addressed with every valiant strut up a marvelous peak. Theology, love, religion, philosophy, technology, pain, the traditional, sacred, PROFANE, friendship, COMMUNICATION, the concoction that drives a mad man towards his own subtle perfection amongst his demanding cosmos. And I don’t even know what this means. I did however, in those precise moments (know) something, whatever it may have been. And for a brief time there proceeding, I no longer had to exaust any of these questions as the sound of silence, the ambiance of 5 billion year old ampitheater and her decedent surroundings explained the unexplainable.

The summit was everything that we were waiting so patiently to achieve. Eric and I sprawled out under a brilliant sky, filled our bottles with the blue glacier water and agreed the trip was worth the pain and the while.

It was an intersting voyage home to say the least, but that is another story for another time I suppose.

More Thesis Jargon

2007-02-28T05:32:00.000-08:00

New Zealand grown and native Maori musicians, 'Katchafire,' performed a late night set to a sell-out crowd last week at Otago. My conclusions and perhaps counter to my friend TB's blog, "Pop-culture a complete disaster (?)." The more time I spend in the NZ the more I realize that quality may be and is established within the realms of beast we dub, "popular-culture." At any rate, it is always up for a good debate. www.katchafire.co.nz

"Rockers" : Fresh

2007-02-25T22:14:00.000-08:00

Keeping the classic flowin. I have yet to discover one of these circa 1970's trailers that makes any sense whatsoever. I did have the pleasure of watching this one a couple of nights ago and I must say, it gives "Heartland Reggae" a run for the money; naughty-style. It's no wonder why Jamaican reggae stars have been emulated for nearly thirty years. 'It's too fresh son.'

Most Fine

2007-02-24T20:38:00.000-08:00

This is an ode to the land of cyclical consistency. Since about 800 AD the Maori indigenous community has referred to their native land comprised of three islands as 'Aotearoa,' closely translated into English as "the Land of the Long White Cloud." It is yet another Sunday and 'the Long White Cloud' has once again found itself nestling the hills of the Southeastern coastlines. It has been nearly three months since I have attended the University and tomorrow I will find that my prolonged vacation will be once again coming to a close. Yet, I believe these moments are the precise happenings that keep the wheels turning against the poignant gear, slowly maintaining and evolving in this equilibrium of events we call life. “YES!” Well, ok sure. It is one hell of a time to be excited about life. Simplicity never felt so good and I have walked the town and the gardens this morning thinking about absolutely nothing. Undoubtedly, nothingness is the remedy for somethingness. What is the note without the silence or the silence without the note? Yes, these are indeed the moments of a contented fellow and tomorrow I will begin the work I thought wouldn’t ever show up.

The town madness of “O Week” (seven days of celebration, noise, reggae, and copious amounts of drinking) has eased and for now I will pluck on my strings that I recently bought in the town, cook up a little Salmon, take a glance at the upside-down constellations and call it an eve.

The Soundsystem:

2007-02-22T19:06:00.000-08:00

Last night the Backstage hosted the world-renowned dub extraordinaire, The Mad Professor straight out of the UK. Accompanied by the French and German mates, we occupied the dance floor in some rickety underground basement where the Professor performed his hard hittin' roots-dub beats until the early hours of the morn. I have only heard stories of the infamous UK 'sound system,' until now; expect little exaggeration, they mean bass and will not be satisfied until the glass is shaking to the floor. The Professor (the grandfather), old, skankin, and dreadlock free, now fills the underground as he is remembered by performing with the Kingston crew King Tubby and Augustus Pablo. Righteousness

I was additionally able to check out a few surf locations due north of Dunedin where the waves are some of the best New Zealand has to offer while catering to only the few locals who know of its presence. Miles of beautiful beach is left completely unattended, nevertheless, I will be trying out the specs this weekend under the conditions that I find myself a board and a sunny day.

The Hoff

2007-02-19T17:12:00.000-08:00

Ok, I must first apologize in advance for the proceedings but I feel as though it must be discussed. I was having a conversation with my German friends, Stephan and Andre, yesterday about political mumbo-jumbo blah-blah-blah. We eventually discussed the dismantling of the Berlin Wall in 1989- blah-blah-blah. To my dismay, most Germans who remember this event predominately associate the television coverage with David "The Hoff" Hasselhoff as he sang "Looking for Freedom" produced by Jack White, at the Berlin Wall on New Years Eve. What?! My thoughts exactly. Apparently, Hasselhoff has continued to woo the German audiences with his irreproachable ballads like "Jump In My Car" and "Hooked on a Feeling." I am thoroughly confused about American pop-culture and the International associations to "the American dream" via David Hasselhoff.

Maybe this clip will help clear things up, or perhaps, raise many, many more questions? I'm sorry:

The West Treats the Best

2007-02-17T19:07:00.000-08:00

"mmmm Ricola"

The Score: 70km trek via 48 hours + 10,000 ft in elevation changes with 35lbs packs = one hell of a (pleasingly) monotonous 'tramp.' Our group of four planned a last minute excursion to the western S. Alps, which provided us with views of some of the most (atrociously) beautiful pieces of rock I have ever encountered. The track included the sights from Mt Luxmore summit, rarely breaking the clouds yet stood high and dry for the duration of our trip (this is seemingly unheard of for the time of year). Although our group suffered 12 hour hiking days with intense elevation changes, those peaks left me with some absurd feelings of absolute contentment. All and all, the trip really only cost about $30NZ and about $15 of that was 'splurged' at some Italian shack serving up a mean pie and a few well needed Speights brews proceeding our (righteously) painful descent down the Luxmore herself.

Snap.

Note to self: I love polyester. Though I have joked at times about mountaineering in my cerca 70's brown-Wrangler-polyster pants, never have I actually attempted this feat until now, nevertheless, highly recommended and approved by Jackson Browne's epic guitar player virtuouso, David Lindley, our nations "Polyester King." Cotton-free by 2008? This intrigues me.

The Kepler Track

(This takes you to the photo album)

"Sweet As" Please take a moment to see how you rate in the world of happiness:

2007-02-12T18:19:00.000-08:00

According to this particular map I'm pretty damn happy (additionally pointing out how the entire state of Russia is pissed off. Also noting how parts of the African and Middle-Eastern continents seemingly have no emotion). I suppose from my current vantage I can't argue with this less than accurate analytical conclusion. Having moved into my flat and adjusting to the new mates, I am now planning a west coast excursion to the Fiordan National Park where I hope to 'go bush' (a.k.a. prance around in the hills with many sheep). This entails your typical gear and one epic hitchin' thumb.

I had planned on posting a few photos of the Morae trip along with a few sites of the coastal areas, however, I painstakingly managed to erase all my photos from my camera. (Things to remember about technology #1: when in doubt, hit eject; #2: always doubt). Apparently it will have to wait until I accumulate a bit more.

Early Observations:

1.) Dunedin is bloody windy. I have been warned of this regular occurrence, yet I have not realized the magnitude of the beastly antarctic blasts from the southern pole until my recent arrival. The rumours are true, the University of Otago is the closest University to Antarctica. "Sweet As."

2.) Anyone who knows me well realizes I like em' as dark as they come: a pasty smooth-bitter delight. And that goes for just about everything: coffee, beer, food, bicycles, women, etc., you get the idea. However, New Zealanders do not funk around when it comes to their coffee. "Black and Short" a standard espresso nearly put me on the ground. Tar is probably easier to stomach than the Kiwi morning wake-up concoction that assumes the title of "coffee" in the southern hemisphere.

3.) The "tight-pant-hipster-dread-mull." Perhaps an interesting take on the pan euro-americano pop-culture fusion-diffusion to the pacific islands.

4.) Reggae, yes alas... Reggae! It's absolutely HUGE and bangin' in every joint in town. This ain't your Bob Marley Legends; I'm talking about the real dub: Augustus, King Tubby, Skatalites, Desmond, the works. For white kids, these locals know how to skank.

5.) New Zealand is about five years behind the times (music and technology). "What? There's no wireless Internet in every household on every block?" It has been a bit of an inconvenience, nevertheless, very minor in my daily occurrences and nothing to complain about.

6.) I love this place?

Kia Ora: Dunedin

2007-02-08T12:17:00.000-08:00

I have seemingly found my way to the other side of the world with few ailments other than the fact that I have been very sick these recent days. I usually get sick about once every couple of years ("what are the odds?"- is right). The physical conversion from the dead of winter with a couple of inches of snow to boot, to the middle of the summer via two islands in the South Pacific is trialing to say the least. At any rate, I am absolutely captivated by this country.

My first few days were spent at a lodge on the North Island where I did a bit of climbing with some mates, beach bumming, cricket performing (the most complex game on earth,) and a little "sheep farming 101" from the locals. They outnumber humans 3 to 1 and are absolutely everywhere. It took approximately 3 hours proceeding my arrival before I accumulated a smelly mass of that infallible poo on all of my two pairs of shoes. Yes, this is New Zealand indeed: beauty, Maori, sheep, and shit. Incredible. Our group soon departed to a local "morae" (this is the meeting place or 'centre' for the indigenous Maori communities). A traditional Maori ceremony and celebration consisted of prayers, chants to Ra, an assortment of their local cuisine, and fascninating song and dance along with ritualistic 'do's and do nots' that have been abided by for hundreds of years (since the beginning of time according to the Maori). Though politically the Maori suffer racial issues much like our Native Americans, I found the Maori to be quite a genuine people and completely reciprocated from any racial generalizations I have heard throughout the weeks

I flew into Dunedin, South Island yesterday and am about to haul my gear into my flat. I will spend the next few days searching for a finely crafted piece of maple wood to strum on and a 6'8 shortboard to try my luck on these luscious western tides before the semester kicks off in a couple of weeks. It's drizzling outside, the clouds are canopied in these coastal hill tops, and I feel at ease with calling this 'home' for the next short while. Aw snap son.

The LAX Blues

2007-02-03T19:32:00.000-08:00

As far as I am concerned "nine-hour" and "layover" should not ever be jointed within the same sentence. Damnation. My back feels like the 'Juana's Afro Funk Congress,' sans the 'Juana's Afro' and quite perceivably lacking the 'Congress' itself. And if you think I sound delusional now, my 13 hours of flight time across the Oceana while occupying the dreaded seat E (like the redheaded stepchild 'dancing' at his Jewish Bar mitzvahh) will surely surpass any previous state of delusion I once 'consumed.' Hopefully "the Lebowski" will ease my pain like he has many a starry night. I did manage to get one last glance at the lonesome city lf Las 'Angleus' and all of her large-sprawling mass, the great wound of the American West; it seemed only fitting and for the first time in my life my plane has landed in California and I will not leave the airport to see her show.

Dancin Like Mozzarella

2007-01-30T12:18:00.000-08:00

Going Away Fiesta 1.26.07

The going away bash was a complete success. I think. A few things I have learned about parties. The first: if one decides to spin records at a particular location where the percentile percapita of individuals are butt housed, be ready to resort to the most absurd of request.

Example 1: Drunk girl stumbles over to our table consisting of thousands of dollars worth of equipment, hands occupied with two cups of very full beers, arms flailing like gumby, a little dribble merging from her mouth. She demands we cut the music for some 'refutable' reason, yet, the only refutable reason I could think of is that this chick was about to pass out and needed to get medical attention immediately. Of course, we stopped the music at her request only to realize she had nothing to say and in the mean time managed to spill her beer all over some records while she had everyones undivided and ready to dance attention. Classy.

Example 2: "Can you put on something a little more gangster?" Cute. No, however, your local Dickson Street has about twenty bars ready to take your money and play the most shitty "gangster" rap at your convenience. We'll stick to quality for now.

Example 3: That dude who has spun a record once or twice on his Dad's stereo aimlessly, and with precise consistency, attempts to convince you that he has what it takes to "get this party rollin." No thanks.

Second thing I have learned about parties: People refuse to show up at a half way reasonable hour. Yet, 2AM comes around and this is the largest party I have witnessed in quite sometime. Nevertheless, I had a blast. Thanks to those who made it out, it was a good time indeed.

36 Chambers: Classic

2007-01-25T10:23:00.001-08:00

My newly acquired morning work out.

The Update: Episode One

2007-01-24T14:51:00.000-08:00

Mar-'got'-Soul: "Yeah she do." Margot ripped it up the other night in her debut performance with the Afrique Aya Dance Company via Altel Theater. Kouakou Yao "Angelo" can get a crowd moving as he directs the rhythms of his Ivory Coast past times. Definitely worth investigated if you so happen to be idling in the Ozarks. You might find an updated list of events here if you are lucky: Culture in Motion

Pat Martino at the Walton Arts Center: For a modestly 'ripened' musician, Martino put on quite the show despite just recently having a stroke. There's no doubt he shreds with the best of them, however, I was patiently waiting for his out of the box tangent that failed to occur. Nevertheless, my accomplice and I managed to get in for free (advanced technique #27: It always pays to show up unassumingly tardy). The product? We sat three rows in front of arguably one of the best jazz guitarists in the world while appreciating one of Martino's limited if not final performances.

Jacket Love: I found 5 bones in my front pocket of my favorite threads. Cultivatin' them Jacksons son.

MacBook: Yes, I am now "one of those people." I'm just wondering why the hell it has taken me so long to get one. I can feel its superiority radiating through the pours as I now have an analogous recording device competing with the best of producing machines on the market. Not to mention I feel like a winner. Perhaps a result of the Mac marketing schema. Damn.

The Lonesome Traveler: I caught wind that there was a guitar player coming into town the other day that has performed with Leo Kotke and Kimock. Intrigued by his resume, I checked him out downtown. He is a one man act and gave Leo a run for his money with his 12 string ballads- all instrumental. Unfortunately, my friends and I were the only ones listening. A common saga of the good/established musicians playin' in the f-town. I did however talk to him for quite sometime following his performance. I discovered his encounter with Kimock was much like my own, a merry happening of the alignment of the cosmos. I am ecstatic that there are still musicians out there 'doin it.' Flying by the seat of those dilapidated denims, another town, another day. A life not for everyone yet chosen by many.

Skype: 'Stoked' that I can ramble for free while I am residing in the NZ; reception quality, well we'll just have to see. skype.com

Dr. Collins (Not I): As it turns out, the head director who finalized proceedings of the Human Genome Project is a devout christian. If you are as shelled by this one as I was you should check out the article in the latest National Geographic if you are able. It presents the reader with an interesting philosophical debate with Dr. Collins and his evolutionary critic. Interesting perspectives regarding some of the hottest debated theses of 'advanced' thought.

Final Moments of Limbo: I have how many days before I leave? Not quite sure about that one, yet I do know that my last moments in Fayetteville have been pleasing to say the absolute very least. Sometime next week I will be boarding a plane; 20 hours later I will arrive at the other side of the world. I suppose it hasn't quite hit me yet. It never really does though. In the mean time I am packing up my place on the hill and providing my final farewells to the home town and the home life. At least for the next six months.

Dove al Vicchio?

2007-01-18T23:44:00.000-08:00

Today I found myself reminiscing of the Poggio Colla days: trowels, sun, aches, sweat, and Bruno's home- brew wine, the concoction of Italian greatness. PC-20 where art thou? Perhaps we will meet again next season.

O Come All Ye Faithful

2007-01-18T09:42:00.000-08:00

Dj Archetype and Tbeam present: 1.26.07

Call it what you will; the last show in the F-town before I head to that so called plentiful horizon we call 'west.'

We'll kick things off on Friday at about 9:30pm. The first set will be performed by yours truly and Tbeam will take over for the late night happenings. Anyone and everyone is invited. "Snap."

Where: 1416 Vista, off Wedington in Fayetteville. Bring your love face and hand jives.

The UP Lineup

2007-01-12T22:06:00.000-08:00

Here it goes; my January rankings of the Unknownly Paramounts:

Fela Anikulapo Kuti:
Originally born in Nigeria in 1938, Fela fashioned a new wave of afro-beat throughout his career. A rebel and revolutionary, Fela Kuti was consistently politically active and spoke out against the ruling Nigerian regime. He was an advocator of human rights, a steady socialist, and an infamous supporter of the Black Panthers.

The tunes produced by this man were just down right righteous. Perhaps only Kuti could be taken seriously while performing in his speedo-esk loins. Following his death in 97,’ a tribute album, Red Hot + Riot was compiled by various hip-hop artists and remains to be one of my favorite albums to date (thanks sis for your exquisite taste in music). Kuti's music is Africa, roots, struggle, soul; it’s basically “some of that ill shit.”

The Hypnotic Brass Ensemble:
The dogs of the underground, you won't find this crew on the shelves at your local record shop. This predominately family band out of Chicago has essentially transcended boundaries of jazz-hip-hop fusion back to "the organic." No electricity. Just your more than modestly inseparable groovin melodies. These guys just recently moved to the NYC and vow only to perform their tracks on the streets. This certainly makes finding them hard to do, yet, certainly worth the search if you are ever beatin' around upstate.

If any originality was ever lost in musical performance, The Hypnotic Brass Ensemble has by all means relocated it again as it thrives in the New York City underground.

Check out this link for their short documentary: Hypnotic

Sun Ra- Arkestra:
Maybe not so "unknownly," however, worth mentioning. How does one begin to talk about Sun Ra? For starters no one really knows his date of birth. A composer and "cosmic philosopher," Sun Ra and his band the Arkestra were undoubtedly from another dimension. These guys MADE noise. I mean I am eternally blown away from the most morbid-beast hurdling sounds that come out of the Sun Ra- Arkestra and their supposed brass instruments. Rancid, cyclical, obtuse, harmonious-explosions. "Hell Yes."

They have influenced the best of the best and have produced an estimated discography consisting of over fifty albums. Interestingly enough, Sun Ra discouraged drug abuse.

The Latin Side:
I don't even want to talk about Brian Lynch, Conrad Herwig, and Eddie Palmieri. These cats are too damn good. I have seen a few of them perform in Fayetteville a couple of times. One group, "Another Kind of Blue," a Miles Davis tribute containing the most phenomenal musicians in the world while playing some of my favorite tunes, the Latin way. And what a way it was. I later saw nearly the same group perform a few years later tributing Coltrane in the same format and the same stupidly inspirational presentation. For the first time in my life, I walked away lacking even the simplest of remarks regarding the show, drove home and suckled on my thumb and pooping on the floor for the remainder of the evening. Musicians shouldn't be that good.

Django at His Finest:

2007-01-11T12:37:00.000-08:00

French threads, groomed mustache, a fine tuned piece of wood, and all the while only two functioning fingers, Cool.

So, This is Arkansas:

2007-01-11T10:57:00.001-08:00

Buffalo River Trip

It has been far too long since I have trekked the Buffalo river; come three days ago a couple of buddies of mine and I decided to try our luck at hiking the upper wilderness area in the midst of January’s freezing temperatures. Yes, colder than the finest of witches’ teet out there. Nevertheless, our trip was a complete success. Something about being in the middle of nowhere brings out the best in people (or worst I suppose… let us not forget the valiant “Piggy” from our 6th grade required past times: The Lord of the Flies. Our hearts are with you).

"Naw, it's not cold"

From Buffalo River...

Here: amongst the stars, a crisp winter’s eve, and the subtle drones of nothingness. “This is somethingness”. One GPS, a 96’ range rover, three backpacks, topographic map, some stable socks, and a few communal meals later you have yourself what seemingly presents itself as a damn good time and exactly what I needed.

First Annual Disk Thwarting Challenge:

2007-01-03T18:03:00.000-08:00

This clip might be a little too epic for one's personal comfort:

"Too Much Brandy in January"

2007-01-03T01:52:00.000-08:00

Midnight ponder, a clandestine achievement of now; this is it. What is the face but the decrepit livelihood of a man who assumes his death. The quarters of those who sleep. One eye winking as the west resides to her luminous beginnings. She has yet to feel the void, yet, however, walking like a single lion atop what used to be a fish (or perhaps the homologous Jasper as clickings clang to clackings... Faces and misplaced races. A board of two nails, the foundation of what was. Sir Van Inwagen debates time as it were. TIME. (As if a word precedes interpretation); THIS begat that. And, the boy waits. No cars or life. A street lamp hums like the majestic sounds of Midwestern sky. Take your note child as tomorrow we recede to the land of your birth.

Here's to Another One:

2007-01-01T19:24:00.000-08:00

I'll let these clips speak for themselves:

Damnation... Harlem Cats Eatery where goith thee? Thanks Margot for sharing this clip with me. Sonny might be the most jivin' cat this America has ever encountered.

R.I.P. J.B.

2006-12-31T14:09:00.000-08:00

Yes, 'The Grandfather' has passed on at the age of 73, yet, his productions have influenced the lives of some of the most paramount musicians in the industry. One wonders if 'James Brown' single handedly fashioned the genre once completely novel to listeners, FUNK. Was funk an inevitability? Was JB merely the mediator, developing face pounding, raw thrusting beats reflecting the masses? Funk that. Well, maybe. It seems evident that James Brown could not have lived up to his status sans his band the JB's, keeping the organs functioning and innovation spanking the asses of every aspiring artist out there with even the slightest traces of soulful indigestion. At any rate, I funking dig on the JB's and rest assured that the legend of James Brown will continue to thrive in the depths of all black American genres on the market for quite sometime.

“Hair is the first thing. And teeth the second. Hair and teeth. A man got those two things he's got it all.” James Brown

2006 is over and tonight I will perform on my decks with a concluding tribute to the James Brown’s along with some of my favorite tracks I have acquired during the scope of the year. And the beat continues…

Sound, Structure, and Train Wrecks

2006-12-24T12:34:00.000-08:00

For nearly the last six months, I have been working to expand my musical horizons. Yet, “expanding,” seemingly necessitates much more than producing outside of one’s personal boundaries. I have found that this process may actually entail a completely novel way of thinking and often times this is difficult to achieve merely because people demand assurance.

“I would like the Pad Thai, chicken, number four spicy, soup, heavy on the nuts, and glass of water … chopsticks. Please.” … “And do you have any teet I may suckle on while I wait?”

I usually refrain from stating the latter half of that comment. Of course, why the hell would I possibly stray from this delicacy, a sensation in my mouth finer than the paramount nectar of the Gods? On the other hand I have never tasted the paramount nectar of the Gods. What I have decided is that I need a train wreck of ideas. Variety, hazardous, inconsistency, a cocktail of the most awkward concoctions: charming, appalling, abysmal, a hint of ludicrous, pungent, and above all more SOUL. More damn soul… Thus, consoling the unexplainable and the most influential crap you will ever encounter. More soul. That’s not to say that I have this thing figured out by any means. Nevertheless, these past months have been exclusively dedicated to experimentations.

My good friend and excellent musician, Drew Packard, and I have been erecting these ‘musical train wrecks’ with various musicians for quite sometime. All takes are solely improvisational, one mic, raw and uncut. Philosophy: “Keep the blemishes; we’ll need those later.” One turntable, a drum kit, sitar, synthesizer, speak and read, four amps, a double bass, children’s megaphone, a melodica, various percussion shakers, a few PBR’s, and many many pedal producing sounds later you have…. Something? Well, something completely reciprocated from anything we have tried before any way.

Check out Opus D’s site for a little taste of “something.” And stay tuned for more productions within the next month.

www.myspace.com/opusd

Yeah I'm Talkin' Jive

2006-12-22T21:48:00.000-08:00

So you made it. Rest assured you will be eternally enlightened from the clandestine digital nonsense that will be provided in the proceedings. Yes, regaled with the topics of what makes the world go round. That's right; fresh. Confident of the finest of unadulterated garb. Snap. Why slave for those "jacksons" when an entity of life's queries and solutions rest upon one's fingertips? Heavy, arduous, smooth; like mom's mashed potatoes.

"Yeah that's nice."

All about the finer things in life: A rusty Schwinn atop unsullied asphalt on a mid-summer day, Kris-Kross apparel circa 1993, the JB's, polyester, single-speeds, the Ford Maverick, Maker's Mark, fans, socks, and the Beach Boys' Pet Sounds. Enjoy?