6/18/17
Sunday
Noon
Too Hot
Generally speaking, one can determine the taste of a generation. Things like "Top XX Charts" for music or Academy Awards for TV shows and movies exist to help people understand the general consensus of the likes and dislikes in media of a certain group of people at a certain time.
Regarding this is the growing accessibility to creating new media. Platforms like Soundcloud and Bandcamp, and smaller electronic devices like the GoPro* and iPhone make picture-taking, video-shooting, and music-recording available almost literally at the push of a button. Because of this, there seems to be a surge in how much media is being created, as though the flood gates of creation have been swung open by the hands of technology. Even the stereotype of the Soundcloud rapper--a young teen trying to rap about his upper-middle class lifestyle through the medium of Garageband and Soundcloud--has formed from this generation of new creation.
One problem that can stem from this flood of new media is how it affects consumption. How could taste possibly be defined for a generation with this much new music in the clouds? Moreover, since new music is being created, genres are sonically propelling themselves further and further away from one another, thereby partitioning the music-listening population into more niche genres of music. In this way, there is no unifying "pop" sound.
One answer to this question is to say that there never was. Perhaps music was always this different, and people stuck to each other based on their taste, and there are different lineages of influence in genres that have persisted to today. Then, the explanation for the Balkanization of genre nowadays can be explained in the same way as how people have different tastes.
Another answer can be found, though. Consider the career of Herman Melville, American author famous for writing the seminal Moby Dick. Throughout his life, Melville only saw mild success; his writings did not sell very well. Even before his death in 1891, Melville witnessed the printing of his own books being halted in 1876 because of their disastrous sales. Despite all this, Melville is now considered one of the greatest authors of all time, having enormous influence on modern literature. What this means is that somebody (or some group of people) found Melville's Moby Dick somewhere along the way and decided that it was a good book. This person decided to read this book (which is not a trivial task) and decided to tell people about it. It is this kind of person that is the subject of this post.
The unsung hero of media is the finder, the active consumer. Especially in an age so saturated with media and information, we need these people to find the gems among the piles. The active consumer is what forms trends and tastes, independent of the influence of advertisement or radio endorsements. The band Neutral Milk Hotel, for instance, did not reach such critical acclaim until many years after the release of their sophomore album, In The Aeroplane Over The Sea. Needless to say, there was no advertising uprising for the album or the band. Instead, it was the work of active consumers and critics actively listening to the forgotten, thus leaving us with an album that was definitive in the indie genre.
In media, we give much credit to the creator, and rightly so. The creators are the ones employing their knowledge and skill to produce something to enjoy, or at least something to think about. However, we mustn't forget the active consumer who shares and filters through the waves of new media. I end with this: if an amazing song is released in the woods, but there are no people around to hear it, is the song amazing?
Note: As music is the form of media with which I am the most familiar, I will mostly discuss the state of the music industry (if it can be even called such). I am fairly certain many of the topics I will touch upon apply to other forms of media, such as film, photography, even writing. Hell, I'm writing an amateur blog on a Google-endorsed, free platform.
*The GoPro can almost be considered obsolete at this point, but that should only further illustrate the acceleration of technology.
Sunday, July 30, 2017
Sunday, June 18, 2017
How Martha Copeland's "Second-Hand Daddy" Is Like Jam On Toast
6/16/17
Friday
Night/Early Morning
Hazy
In a lot of ways, the song "Second-Hand Daddy" by Martha Copeland (and, in similar ways, any song) is like toast with jam spread on it.
First, notice that the song can be split into instruments and voice. The background instruments, namely the bass and the piano, make up the piece of toast. These parts of the song are very fundamental. Both the bass and the piano do almost all the keeping of the rhythm of the song, and the notes of the bass and the piano establish the key and chords played throughout the song. Even more illustrative of how much of a foundation these background aspects are is the style the instrumentalists themselves are playing: the classic blues style, twelve-bar blues, is a very fundamental concept of all modern music: jazz, rock, pop, all influenced from blues. However, on their own--*even with the flowery flourishes of the piano in the background--the bass and piano feel bare. A dry piece of toast.
It is in Copeland's voice that we find the juice of the song. Her voice really floats above the more repetitive, mechanical motions of the instruments. Disregarding even the lyrics, one can note the way her voice slides between notes and creates a single, smooth, glassy melody. The higher ranges of her voice are like the tangs we experience from, perhaps, a tart blackberry jam. The seeds really get stuck in your teeth, and you feel your tongue futilely trying to fetch them out from between your gums. The jam really adds a great flavor, and that flavor is balanced with the dry, but structural, piece of toast beneath.
It is noteworthy that the jam and the toast are both pieces of human creation, like all music. Regardless, when you bite through that sweet and tangy jam into some crusty bread, it is quite the experience. Give this song a listen.
*I have noticed--even when I find it on Google and copy-paste the little bugger of a symbol--that the em dash does not display on Blogspot. This is unfortunate for me, as the em dash is one of the more elegant forms of punctuation, but I suppose the double hyphen will work for the time being. Perhaps I will send Blogspot an email.
Friday, June 16, 2017
Different Senses of "Axiom"
6/16/17
Friday
Late Morning
Clear and Bright
There are, at least, two definitions of the word "axiom."
In one sense, a set of axioms is a set of fundamental truths of a logical system. More broadly, humans try to use axioms to describe the natural world, as though axioms are laws of nature. If we find a certain phenomenon in nature, we should be able to trace it back to the basic axioms to find an explanation for why this thing happened.
The Ancient Greeks thought of an axiom as a self-evident truth of the world. Indeed, Jean Piaget's theory of development of mind indicates that at a very young age, children have and develop strong intuitions about nature, such as object permanence and contact between objects. Eventually, this definition of axiom brought us to Euclid's geometry, the postulates of which are all fairly easy to grasp with one's intuition.
The scary part is trying to understand that these two concepts of axioms are different. Perhaps what we perceive to be true is different from the truths of the physical world. Consider the case with the well-worn, but classic paradox: what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? "It must be impossible," cries the human. "The unstoppable force cannot be stopped by the object, as it is unstoppable. However, the immovable object cannot be budged by the force, as it is immovable. Nonsense!" The solution to this paradox is so puzzling to us because it contradicts our basic assumptions. We know* that objects cannot pass through each other. Nevertheless, within the constraints of the problem, the only way these objects can continue to obey their inherent descriptions is by passing right through one another.
Another example of this disconnect is Godel's Incompleteness Theorem. Kurt Godel proved** that, if there is any sufficiently strong system of logic (specifically a consistent arithmetic), then there is always a way to deduce a theorem that is true, but cannot be proven. That is, there are true statements in the universe that we cannot show to be true from our basic assumptions. Of course, we can take these new unprovable true statements as new axioms, and any unprovable truth we find can be added to the list, but that probably fails to capture the self-evident aspect of an axiom; also, who thinks the consistency of arithmetic is intuitive anyway?
Maybe we'll never know the entire truth of the universe. Maybe that's a good thing.
*Or at least, this belief is as deeply ingrained in us as knowledge.
**Of course, a human-made proof is a shaky concept if human intuition fails to capture universal truths.
Friday
Late Morning
Clear and Bright
There are, at least, two definitions of the word "axiom."
In one sense, a set of axioms is a set of fundamental truths of a logical system. More broadly, humans try to use axioms to describe the natural world, as though axioms are laws of nature. If we find a certain phenomenon in nature, we should be able to trace it back to the basic axioms to find an explanation for why this thing happened.
The Ancient Greeks thought of an axiom as a self-evident truth of the world. Indeed, Jean Piaget's theory of development of mind indicates that at a very young age, children have and develop strong intuitions about nature, such as object permanence and contact between objects. Eventually, this definition of axiom brought us to Euclid's geometry, the postulates of which are all fairly easy to grasp with one's intuition.
The scary part is trying to understand that these two concepts of axioms are different. Perhaps what we perceive to be true is different from the truths of the physical world. Consider the case with the well-worn, but classic paradox: what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? "It must be impossible," cries the human. "The unstoppable force cannot be stopped by the object, as it is unstoppable. However, the immovable object cannot be budged by the force, as it is immovable. Nonsense!" The solution to this paradox is so puzzling to us because it contradicts our basic assumptions. We know* that objects cannot pass through each other. Nevertheless, within the constraints of the problem, the only way these objects can continue to obey their inherent descriptions is by passing right through one another.
Another example of this disconnect is Godel's Incompleteness Theorem. Kurt Godel proved** that, if there is any sufficiently strong system of logic (specifically a consistent arithmetic), then there is always a way to deduce a theorem that is true, but cannot be proven. That is, there are true statements in the universe that we cannot show to be true from our basic assumptions. Of course, we can take these new unprovable true statements as new axioms, and any unprovable truth we find can be added to the list, but that probably fails to capture the self-evident aspect of an axiom; also, who thinks the consistency of arithmetic is intuitive anyway?
Maybe we'll never know the entire truth of the universe. Maybe that's a good thing.
*Or at least, this belief is as deeply ingrained in us as knowledge.
**Of course, a human-made proof is a shaky concept if human intuition fails to capture universal truths.
Thursday, June 15, 2017
The Common Use of "Filter"
6/15/17
Thursday
Early Morning
Serene
There is a certain use of the word filter that must have been introduced to our vocabulary in the very recent past. Clarendon, Gingham, Moon, Lark, Reyes–these are just a few examples of what we call a filter. We use filters to alter the color or contrast of a photograph we have taken, and thus we can evoke a certain aesthetic or feel from a picture when we post it on social media. This is a relatively recent invention.
The original use of the noun filter is straightforward: an object that filters. We of course define the verb to filter as to remove excess or unwanted material, to purify. This modern sense of filter as an additional aesthetic change to a photograph is influenced from the noun form of filter. We attach a filter to an object to add a filtering capability to a device. We add a coffee filter to a coffee maker so we don't have grounds in our coffee. We add water filters to sinks so we can drink clean water straight from the tap. In the same sense, we add Snapchat filters to our pictures so we can have a nicer looking image–a cute dog overlay, for instance.
Nevertheless, there is a sense in which the adoption of the word filter to this modern meaning is precisely opposite. To filter means to remove excess. However, a Snapchat filter (or Instagram filter, etc.) adds vanity, adds extra fluff to an image before sending it. These are precise antonyms: a removal versus an addition.
Perhaps we should use a more technically informed word for the concept of filter. Perhaps "alteration" or "enhancement"?
Note: above, italics are used to indicate reference to the usage of the word, not the meaning of the word
Thursday
Early Morning
Serene
There is a certain use of the word filter that must have been introduced to our vocabulary in the very recent past. Clarendon, Gingham, Moon, Lark, Reyes–these are just a few examples of what we call a filter. We use filters to alter the color or contrast of a photograph we have taken, and thus we can evoke a certain aesthetic or feel from a picture when we post it on social media. This is a relatively recent invention.
The original use of the noun filter is straightforward: an object that filters. We of course define the verb to filter as to remove excess or unwanted material, to purify. This modern sense of filter as an additional aesthetic change to a photograph is influenced from the noun form of filter. We attach a filter to an object to add a filtering capability to a device. We add a coffee filter to a coffee maker so we don't have grounds in our coffee. We add water filters to sinks so we can drink clean water straight from the tap. In the same sense, we add Snapchat filters to our pictures so we can have a nicer looking image–a cute dog overlay, for instance.
Nevertheless, there is a sense in which the adoption of the word filter to this modern meaning is precisely opposite. To filter means to remove excess. However, a Snapchat filter (or Instagram filter, etc.) adds vanity, adds extra fluff to an image before sending it. These are precise antonyms: a removal versus an addition.
Perhaps we should use a more technically informed word for the concept of filter. Perhaps "alteration" or "enhancement"?
Note: above, italics are used to indicate reference to the usage of the word, not the meaning of the word
Saturday, June 10, 2017
Anti-Anti-Vapes
6/10/17
Saturday
Night
Dark
I hate the hateful culture that surrounds vapes. People who vape are criticized heavily, stereotyped to be douche-bags and posers. It must be said that society's* anti-vape tendencies are justified, or at least have reasons. Taking a look back at the history of tobacco consumption, cigarettes were (are) cool because they signified a sort of nonchalance. Cigars are associated with corporate fat cats sitting on big office chairs, puffing away at their cigar, laughing at they piles of money. On the other hand, cigarettes are less pretentious, the working man's source of pleasure. Of course, cigarettes have been portrayed as cool and sexy in media since the early 20th century.
Cigarettes even have their place in modern media. Now, it is common knowledge that cigarettes are carcinogenic, and that has certainly put a damper on their coolness. The perception of cigarette-smoking has changed accordingly, showing a lack of care for even one's own life. One of the more prominent figures in modern cigarette smoking is Mac Demarco, shown pictured with cigarettes falling from the sky or smoking cigarette after cigarette in casual interviews.
*"society" ugh c'mon.
**To be fair, the safer option hasn't historically been seen as cool. Regardless, my argument still holds for practical purposes.
Saturday
Night
Dark
I hate the hateful culture that surrounds vapes. People who vape are criticized heavily, stereotyped to be douche-bags and posers. It must be said that society's* anti-vape tendencies are justified, or at least have reasons. Taking a look back at the history of tobacco consumption, cigarettes were (are) cool because they signified a sort of nonchalance. Cigars are associated with corporate fat cats sitting on big office chairs, puffing away at their cigar, laughing at they piles of money. On the other hand, cigarettes are less pretentious, the working man's source of pleasure. Of course, cigarettes have been portrayed as cool and sexy in media since the early 20th century.
Cigarettes even have their place in modern media. Now, it is common knowledge that cigarettes are carcinogenic, and that has certainly put a damper on their coolness. The perception of cigarette-smoking has changed accordingly, showing a lack of care for even one's own life. One of the more prominent figures in modern cigarette smoking is Mac Demarco, shown pictured with cigarettes falling from the sky or smoking cigarette after cigarette in casual interviews.
Nevertheless, cigarettes are destructive. Those who vape should not be seen as wimpy or fake, but rather as a people who choose the safer option.** The stigmatization of vapes is akin to peer pressure: "you're not cool for doing this safe thing, you should be doing this more dangerous thing!" Expressly, we should not stigmatize safety. We vapers are simply choosing the better alternative. Besides, nicotine feels fucking awesome.
*"society" ugh c'mon.
**To be fair, the safer option hasn't historically been seen as cool. Regardless, my argument still holds for practical purposes.
Sunday, June 4, 2017
Series and Their Philosophical Significance
6/4/2017
Sunday
Sundown
Sunny
A series is the sum of an infinitely long list of numbers. The most classic example is presented as a paradox attributed to Zeno of Elea: how can one travel across a room when first one must travel halfway across the room, but before that one must travel half-of-halfway across the room, but before that one must travel half-of-half-of-halfway across the room, and so on? Expressed mathematically, this question asks: what is the sum of the reciprocals of the powers of two?
A brief study of series reveals that there are two kinds of series, convergent and divergent. A convergent series has an actual value. For example, Archimedes answered Zeno's paradox in 212 BC by finding a value to the sum of the reciprocals of powers of two; namely, the series sums to one (this, of course, reflects the fact that one can indeed walk the length of the entire room). A divergent series does not have a real value, and thus blows up to infinity or negative infinity. An example is the series whose terms are all one, as adding one an infinite number of times will yield infinity*.
The aspect of philosophical significance is the following: although a divergent series does not have a limit that exists, the divergent series itself does. This mathematical object, a sum of infinitely many elements, exists and can be reasoned about regardless of the existence of its totality. This has the implication that something can exist in terms of its constituents (in the example of a series, a series can exist contingent on the existence of its summands) but taken as a whole, that thing might not exist. God, for instance, in all of His power, might not exist, but perhaps the elements of God do – love, knowledge, goodness.
For further reading: Zeno's other paradoxes (Achilles and the Tortoise), Riemann Hypothesis, the length of my dick (the series given by measuring the length of my dick is divergent (IF YA KNOW WHAT I MEAN))
*I feel like this sentence is the equivalent of saying something "equals infinity" which is technically problematic, but for lack of better phrasing I'll leave it.
Sunday
Sundown
Sunny
A series is the sum of an infinitely long list of numbers. The most classic example is presented as a paradox attributed to Zeno of Elea: how can one travel across a room when first one must travel halfway across the room, but before that one must travel half-of-halfway across the room, but before that one must travel half-of-half-of-halfway across the room, and so on? Expressed mathematically, this question asks: what is the sum of the reciprocals of the powers of two?
A brief study of series reveals that there are two kinds of series, convergent and divergent. A convergent series has an actual value. For example, Archimedes answered Zeno's paradox in 212 BC by finding a value to the sum of the reciprocals of powers of two; namely, the series sums to one (this, of course, reflects the fact that one can indeed walk the length of the entire room). A divergent series does not have a real value, and thus blows up to infinity or negative infinity. An example is the series whose terms are all one, as adding one an infinite number of times will yield infinity*.
The aspect of philosophical significance is the following: although a divergent series does not have a limit that exists, the divergent series itself does. This mathematical object, a sum of infinitely many elements, exists and can be reasoned about regardless of the existence of its totality. This has the implication that something can exist in terms of its constituents (in the example of a series, a series can exist contingent on the existence of its summands) but taken as a whole, that thing might not exist. God, for instance, in all of His power, might not exist, but perhaps the elements of God do – love, knowledge, goodness.
For further reading: Zeno's other paradoxes (Achilles and the Tortoise), Riemann Hypothesis, the length of my dick (the series given by measuring the length of my dick is divergent (IF YA KNOW WHAT I MEAN))
*I feel like this sentence is the equivalent of saying something "equals infinity" which is technically problematic, but for lack of better phrasing I'll leave it.
Thursday, April 27, 2017
Prototype Albums
4/27/2017
Thursday
Afternoon
Windy
It is well-known that Radiohead's fifth album Amnesiac is a collection of "you weren't good enough" songs from the album Kid A. This puts Amnesiac in a unique situation; when listening to this album, one sees the scratch-work of Kid A, the early drafts. In this way, Amnesiac allows us to learn more about Kid A, one of the greatest albums of the early 2000s.
Something to note is that both albums have the same song, Morning Bell (called Morning Bell/Amnesiac on Amnesiac), one being an older version of the other. The main difference between the versions of the songs is that the song on Amnesiac is in standard time signature, 4/4, while the version on Kid A is in 5/4. I think this is a testament to how Radiohead writes songs. Instead of coming up with the technical aspects of the song, like the time signature, they focus more on the general feeling the song is supposed to elicit; in the case of Morning Bell, futuristic, soft, ghostly.
Thursday
Afternoon
Windy
It is well-known that Radiohead's fifth album Amnesiac is a collection of "you weren't good enough" songs from the album Kid A. This puts Amnesiac in a unique situation; when listening to this album, one sees the scratch-work of Kid A, the early drafts. In this way, Amnesiac allows us to learn more about Kid A, one of the greatest albums of the early 2000s.
Something to note is that both albums have the same song, Morning Bell (called Morning Bell/Amnesiac on Amnesiac), one being an older version of the other. The main difference between the versions of the songs is that the song on Amnesiac is in standard time signature, 4/4, while the version on Kid A is in 5/4. I think this is a testament to how Radiohead writes songs. Instead of coming up with the technical aspects of the song, like the time signature, they focus more on the general feeling the song is supposed to elicit; in the case of Morning Bell, futuristic, soft, ghostly.
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