Just play the C chord...

Play The C Chord by Jason Martin

These friends of mine fill the lines
To put in the songs you like fill up your time
These friends of mine who write the lines
And put out the songs you like in half the time

Something's wrong if it's the old news
Play the C chord like it's something
Something's wrong if it's the old news
Play the C chord like it's something, like it's something

These friends of mine who write the lines
And put out the songs you like in half the time

Something's wrong if it's the old news
Play the C chord like it's something
Something's wrong if it's the old news
Just play the C Chord like it's something

Like it's something, like it's something
Like it's something new, you can sing through


What's this you might ask? It's a song of course. Sure you may never have heard the song, nor would you think that the lyrics fit in the pantheon of legendary status. But I do like to ask people what they think the words, play the c chord like it's something, means. The c chord, a staple of every ambitious guitarists dreams. A simple, comfortable, and often used chord. If you are piano inclined, middle c is where most people like to begin when learning piano. The triad comprised of c,e, and g, when struck, resound with quality that permeates home. So why the lyrics?

Look at your life. What do you do? Whatever you do, how do you do it? What separates the way you do, whatever it is, from everybody else? There are tools with which we work with, that personify who we are by how we use them. Whatever you are doing, and whatever tools you are using, are you using them in your own unique way or the way that someone has shown you? Maybe it's the most efficient way or the way that you've seen people have the most success with.

Look at the lyrics. Anyone can play the c chord. Anyone can write a song. But what are the motives behind the chord and behind the song. Surely the C chord is nothing new and wherever you are things may be all to familiar. There is an account of a man who tried to do something that no one had ever done before. He wanted to walk on water and for a moment he succeeded. Success came through the impossible, pierced through the doubt. Failure soon came with rationalization and fear. The account says that the man began to sink, not plunge into the depths.

I step onto the water....

Soundtracks

The past three months I've been putting together a film. (I wish I could call it that.) Shot on silent 16mm film last April, I am now piecing the final shots together. Of course with a silent film there are emotions and messages that the images will portray but the image only brings a viewer so far. Sound design on my film plays an important role in juxtaposing ideas. Part of the sound design is not just diagetic sound (sound that comes from a source that is in the scene, i.e. a radio is shown so talk or music could be heard on the soundtrack) but also non-diagetic sound (sound outside of the scene i.e. rocky runs up the steps with an orchestral score playing).

What music fits the scene or film that one is making? Since there are many rules and laws about music being used in film I chose not to use material recorded by someone else, instead I record my own. Or should I say Militant Citizenry records some music for the film. It is here where a new creative process takes place. One where possibilities abound and no mistakes are made. I have limited recording abilities but the limited tools or lack of professional equipment allows me to create soundtracks that are physical. Sometimes all of our toys and gadgets get in the way of creativity.

The soundtrack for the film, titled The Regression of Progression, is intended to play a minimal part to enhance the visual elements. This soundtrack was a simple endeavor but an endeavor non the less. I'm sure that whenever the film is finished the soundtrack will not be the most memorable thing about it. For a short film that's not much soundtrack but it is my hope that filmmakers and musicians not just settle for simplistic or pop driven derivatives. It would be great to have a hundred piece orchestra but I'd rather have the clarinet player playing with one hand and blowing onto squeaky reed. If it creates the sound and underscores the emotions of the scene then I'll take it any day.



Something to learn from The Monks.

Michael Crichton

Seventh grade was a great time for me. It was my second year of public school and I wasn't the outsider that I was the year before. I made new friends and the year provided the opportunities for more of my classmates to get to know me better. Besides the social networking that I did that year I had an English teacher who would start the day with a simple assignment. Bring in a book and read for 15 minutes or so. After that 15 minutes you would write in a journal what you had read. Simple and easy, possibly a good way to kill a chunk of the day without too much brain power. But that reading time was more than just an assignment or a "school thing." That short amount of time allowed me to delve into worlds and mysteries that only I could understand and enjoy.

The author that I spent most of the year reading was Michael Crichton. When Jurassic Park hit the movie theaters some years before I went and saw the film with my mother and enjoyed the excitement but for some reason I wondered about the book. The book was a hard read, lots of science and at the time I was just entering sixth grade but I managed my way through the book. Then I read another Chrichton book, Eaters of the Dead. The tale was a little more adult for me but I read it and didn't think twice. Then there was Sphere. I remember holding the paperback in my hands and looking at the thickness of the pages and thinking, "yeah right, I'll never finish this book." I started reading, and kept reading each page flowing into the next. The story, the characters and the world that was portrayed pushing me to keep reading. My eyes would blur and tire but the story would resonate in my mind. A little rest and then I would jump right back into the book.

I never thought that a book could have such an impact but it did. The impact was great because I had the crazy thought that I would write a book. I wrote my story which stole ideas from Sphere and eventually I finished writing. There weren't many pages but to write my own story was exciting. I would write more stories over time, each page a reflection of the author that inspired me. That seventh grade year I would read A Time of Need which Crichton used a pseudonym, Jeffrey Hudson. The story was very adult but I latched onto the story and was gripped by each twist and turn. Terminal Man led me into a twisted world of medical science gone awry at the same time Five Patients brought the real life experience of medicine to my mind.

After reading Congo, Travels, The Lost World, The Great Train Robbery, Airframe, Rising Sun, and Andromeda Strain I caught up to Crichton and had to wait for new publications. Each time a new hardcover hit the racks I bought the book, not with the same excitement as my seventh grade year. The stories continued to intrigue and open my mind to new stories of imagination.

Michael Crichton passed away on November 5th at the age of 66. As someone who continues to create stories and write screenplays I know that without Michael Crichton they just wouldn't be the same. Besides being a writer he was a filmmaker, he was even considered to be in one of my favorite movies The Man Who Fell to Earth. The literary world has lost a unique storyteller but his stories will continue through me and maybe to any kids that I might have.

Hegemony and me pt. 3...The all of me

Relax and ease the foot off the pedal. The ride is almost done, the journey complete, the ideals over. Finally. Eight years gone, the hopes of brighter fading into the diaspora. I remember the grey clouds of the bright september day. The plume of dust dissipating into the atmosphere and what have we left here? There were words spoken by a young man at one time. He spoke of a humbleness that a great nation should have in dealing with other nations. A hand across the table is always stable.

Then there was the gut instinct and the promise of consideration. Were the years of my early adulthood sold out to an impossible dream? How close was I to the end of me? I stood in the desert of Mexico but could I have stood in another desert. Sure physically, but knowing truly that it wouldn't be the all of me.

Where does the power go now? There was a chance for respectability and a unique way to offer the truth of a higher authority. Oh how through the hands of men the screw was turned the wrong way and now history is the only hope for vindication. Eight years of rhetoric spurned into a hazy delirium. It's hard to express my frustration.

Now I see what is important. I find that the hegemony only wants what's best for the hegemony. To go along with that mind frame is poison. If being on the outside is reserved for me then let it be.

There was a story I heard somewhere. Ralph Waldo Emerson went to visit Thoreau in his cabin in the woods near Walden pond. Emerson asked Thoreau, "What are you doing in this cabin Henry?" Henry replied, "The question is not what am I doing here, it's what are you doing out there?"