Going into Retirement

Hey folks,

as the Wall-Nuts reach their first official year and so does this blog, I have decided to step back (from blogging per se) and focus on continual development of the community at large. I may drop a surprise post from time-to-time, but time is exactly the issue, and it's becoming less available. 

Thanks to all my readers and if you're just stumbling upon this there's a decent bit of history to explore, so scroll down and I hope you enjoy!

I will continue to engage with my role as founder and one of seven admins of The Wall-Nuts and you can catch us on our website, Twitter and Facebook! 
You can email the nuts and ask for me if you'd like as well: thewallnuts@hotmail.com

Warmth and gratitude for our time together here!

Paige
"Mum Nut"

Is It Creepy?

Just reading the title/prompt for this one back to myself makes me chuckle. As much at myself than anything.
Yes, I am going to "go there," because it has crossed my mind more than a few times now.

Original images by J. Brickwood-jamesbrickwood.com

 Is being an "uber fan," "nut," "devotee" of something a source of shame or pride? Generally I feel pride for it, like I somehow don a seal that sets me amongst a cohort or community. That part of it is really cool-the sense of belonging to something, the identity. But there's another angle for me; the sense that I wonder if I am straddling some ethical or moral fissure and could slip and fall into it at any moment.

Where do we get the sense of privilege or entitlement to intrude upon someone else's life? What makes it socially sanctioned to view the goings-on of a 'celebrity' as public domain? Would I want people finding photos of me as a child were I to suddenly become a public figure?Is it just the social contract that celebrity entails? Have I gassed-on about this before? Damn. Reset.

Oh wait....we no longer live in a world of privacy and boundaries.......shit. Go ahead, Google "baby pictures of Mum Nut" and see what terrifying results drop in the queue. Don't blame me for the ensuing horror. I bet there's that one of me in a dotted cowgirl dress and a plastic pistol floating about the ether somewhere. Bet there's a solid feminist/gun control meme that could result from that little nugget of my personal history....or not because I'm not famous. What a relief...?

Please to not misconstrue my tone-yes I am in an especially flippant mood today. It helps that a recent fellow music blogger Stephen Scott (@stephenaxlscott) brought the laughs (and the requisite cojones) to briefly banter about stumbling across tutorials on...shall we say 'creative and circuitous erotic practices' whilst searching for The Basics on itunes. Please to refer to said comedy as I am quite fond of the fellow: http://www.ambientwhispers.com/author/stephen/

Where the hell was I? Oh yes.......creepy.

Sometimes I see the way an image of a person or their history becomes fair game for 're-interpretation' or straight-out conjecture. Believe me, I am probably guilty of this in soooo many ways that clearly I can't even recall a particular offence. Oh wait I took the pics above and made a Wall-triplicate montage. There's one. Lock me up.
But I also feel it's okay....no...it's crucial to check oneself in that action/behavior/belief. Where do I get the sense that it is permissible for me to plumb the web for some juicy tidbit to slake my lust for...whatever? Where does that privilege generate, and what perpetuates it?

I suppose I ought to place a caveat into this particular cogitation: I am not seeking to confront any of my fellow fans/bloggers/thinkers/talkers on why we do what we do (because we all do it.) I am merely sharing how I consider it for myself. I adore the climate of open information and discourse...this is merely a small, singular aspect of it.

But what purpose does an image of an artist as an innocent, everyman youth do for us? Does it merely bring a smile and some brief wondering about the lived experience of the person? Is it insidiously voyeuristic? Is it harmlessly curious and playful? I'm just not sure. All I know is I have the same human reaction of possible irrational joy at witnessing it as anyone. What does that mean for me?

 I still don't know yet, but I am thinking about it. That's something, right?

To be continued.......I'm busy nerding-out about synthesizers with a musician now.....I never miss out on that.

~~~
C. Paige 2013

What does it mean

The above clip is the 1996 hard rock Grammy acceptance speech by an apparently disaffected Eddie Vedder. In brief reflection on the meaning of winning a Grammy, Vedder quickly concludes that essentially the moment and the record of it means little or nothing-perhaps beyond pleasing one's next of kin.

The last few days have been awash with news and opinions and "told you so" editorials on Gotye's Grammy sweep. Coining such terms as "hat trick" and "unexpected star," articles have reveled in the apparent victory of a yet 'unsung' musical hero. Granted, much of said news hails from Oz, so the bias makes sense-and the fact that Wally has broken a decades-long dry-spell for Australian musos at the yearly event termed "music's biggest night."

I wholeheartedly agree that Wally's Grammy accolades were more than earned-especially the distinct parameters of the Record of the Year category, wherein the craftsmanship of a song is the focus. It's undeniable that amongst a mostly canned-pop piece cohort, "Somebody" was a diamond in the rough. I was not at all shocked by the win, more satisfied than anything else.

But what does it mean? Will the naysayers still bang-on about how this only proves that Wally is a classic one-hit wonder? Does a Grammy for Best Alternative Album indicate a broadening awareness of the quality of the entire work wherein "Somebody" resides?

Just a few days after the bacanalia of Grammy night, Wally sat down with a local radio station and an audience of one-hundred and revealed that for both his hit single and his Grammy experience he felt himself little more that a "curious bystander." I would say that's perhaps quite true to the subjectively sensed roles of folks like myself. Doesn't it seen fascinating that both the maker of the art and the devotees would feel a similar sense of detachment or depersonalization? Is this just the afterglow of the shock felt by finding oneself handed an historic award by one of pop music's most eccentric and brilliant veterans?

It's a little strange for me, I have to admit. I've been gassing-on about Gotye for a year, and have made a personal task of supporting his work and integrating into his community. He was just a strange and immutable music video to me back then, now he's one of my favorite people on earth. I was proud like a mother bird watching her hatchling spring from the nest and soar...which is pretty stupid of me, really, and not entirely logical. But pride for Wally walking across a stage in my home turf and finally being seen for the humble brilliance he brings to an otherwise fluff-glutted artistic industry is what I genuinely felt...whether I deserve to or not.

I hope he sees his first Grammy awards as more than meaningless metal, as Eddie Vedder seemed to convey. I hope it holds a broader value as a concrete representation that his work is loved deeply by us "uber fans." Because it's the mass of listeners and lovers that drive the industry in the end, not just politics or privilege.

I also hope Wally goes home to some tranquility, and perhaps retains his "curious bystander" sense of this-I believe it will keep him grounded. And a grounded Gotye is the man who makes the music we love.

Warmly,

Paige (c.) 2013

Catch more glorious Gotye gluttony at heisthewallrus.com

What a Time!

Suppose I choose an apt time to return to the space where the 'nuttiness' started almost a year ago. Last night Wally swept-up a triplicate of Grammy gold, not to my surprise but certainly to my satisfaction. But it's not about my satisfaction-it's about the shared joy of seeing someone dear and deserving receiving a high honor for an immense labor of sonic love. 

I spent nearly nine hours last night keeping up with the precast, red carpet and final Grammy telecast. I was like a fervent gambler toiling away at the table for that one big win. I went to bed last night with sore wrists and numb fingertips...and a bit of shock that someone so kind and authentic would reach such a high watermark in his career whilst I was privileged to participate. Yes it is a privilege-one that comes with labor indeed-but let's be real; sometimes good fortune intermingles with committed effort, or even supersedes it. Suppose the distinction isn't really all that important.
Anyway-I am happy to be back here where I can make space to consider the meta-meanings of all the chatter and news, be it victorious, spurious or otherwise. I've generated a community, a tribe of sorts, under one shared motive. Pretty cool. Pretty challenging, but pretty cool.

I'm genuinely joyful for Wally and his collaborators today. Although they may be just another few mantle-tchotchkes at the material level, the three Grammy's he flies home with are a symbol of the brilliant art he chose to risk committing to twelve-odd years ago. That profound risk-and the courage and audacity that drove it-is what brings us all the brilliant music we collectively treasure today. There's no weight in gold that can pay that debt of gratitude, but hell....maybe a Record of the Year citation helps.

 Thanks to everyone who has been involved and celebrated one of the best crazy career decisions of one of the coolest dudes on earth.  May this be only one of many more big blips on the Wally radar!

--Paige ("Mum Nut")

(c.)

As usual-check out the mad updates at heisthewallrus.com! 

It's alive!

Hey nuts-I am back! I'll return with more in-depth posts soon, but wanted to check in and confirm that I'll be re-activating this blog very soon! For now--roll on over to heisthewallrus.com for ongoing Gotye goodness!

Back in a jiffy!

-Mum Nut

C. Singersroom.com

Time for a break

Merry "Chrissy," Happy חֲנֻכָּה Hanukkah and Kwanzaa...or really any holiday you choose to observe this time of year

It is time for a break for Wally and his Gotye music-making cohorts, and for me too, I feel. Much love to all and I'll be back in 2013, after the world has not in fact ended...yet

Mum Nut

 (there's always updates and more fun at heisthewallrus.com, the Wall-nuts official website, so get yer fix there for now ;) )



Thanks for the nutty pic Wally
(it's an original so please contact thewallnuts@hotmail.com before copying, folks. Thanks!)

Falling Into Place

Last night I awoke at 4am to a barrage of news on Wally's multiple ARIA wins. I had not intended to rouse myself at such an ungodly hour, truly, it happened by apparent chance. I am certain it had more to do with my cat laying across my head than anything else per se.
I was not surprised by the news that my favorite music man had swept the ceremony, taking all four of his nominations, all being arguably the most coveted categories of the year. I was satisfied, perhaps, that his talents were lauded appropriately per the preference of my honest and expansive bias (insert sarcasm here.) It's been a mad day of updates and news, arriving to my shores belated but welcome nonetheless.

So what?

Well....I'm not entirely certain how I feel. Just yesterday I was huffing and puffing and generally feeling inconvenienced to pay any manner of attention to it. I feel that from time-to-time; the sense that my own realities deserve tending to such that I'd not mind shirking my other roles entirely. I believe that's rather normative, and even sensible and adaptive on occasion.

Today I am refreshed with new excitement and thoughts about the possible future paths ahead for Wally and even for myself and my much-adored fellow devotees of his work. I'm giddy and chattering. I laughed joyously when even one of my family members cheered with genuine glee when he heard Wally had taken the Album of the Year accolade! "That's fantastic! So deserved!"

Indeed it is-although as is the tendency-Wally himself humbly doubted his worthiness. I suppose any self-aware and careful artist would. But I imagine you agree with me that his moments of quiet glory last night were truly earned with brilliance, hard work and a rare, almost 'diamond in the rough' authenticity. These, among others, are the treasure-traits that drive me to continue to work to support the career of this utterly delightful fellow human creature.

It's rather funny--how the victories and challenges of someone else can be so salient. Granted, as a counselor, the deeply meaningful experiences of others often do sit within my soul in some fashion...but the life-line of this particular fellow has set itself as some sort of seal upon my heart and mind. I care deeply for his journey, I'll not disguise that reality. I have no desire to control that journey or steer it in any way-I am just thankful to be somehow-albeit remotely-involved in it. That's a gift. Beauty of all iterations happens in the moments wherein we touch the lives of others and they touch ours.

I'm tired, and a little emotionally drained over the work of this past year-my own and that of the musical magician I follow. But it's a good tired-like the feeling at the end of the day when the labors of hours have been accomplished and all is ready to rest. I hope rest comes for Wally, for my fellows of this community, and for myself.

 As usual, cheers to my Wall-Nuts and all fellow fans....oh and you too, Wally.

-Paige ("Mum Nut" as they say)


C. 2012

Giving it a Chance

Two of my favorite Making Mirrors songs are undoubtedly "Giving Me a Chance" and "Save Me." I'm sure there's plenty of reasons, beyond the apparent musical beauty, to find these songs compelling depending on which listener you talk to. For me, they represent a powerful, painful and joyous tension inherent to the most intimate relationship one can have with another person.
"Giving" speaks (in my entirely subjective evaluation...see the word 'value' in there) to a moment of reflecting upon one's vulnerable admission of imperfection to their beloved. It strips down flowery pretense and candidly clarifies the internalized guilt of getting "a little wrapped-up in myself" and the fearful awareness that very human mistake may lead one's love to "question what we have." Those are deeply salient to me; that sense that at times our lens narrows so much that when we reopen our awareness, we realize that the choices we have made lead to profound losses. This does not mean that our choices (or our 'self-ish-ness') was wrong or mistaken per se. What it does mean is that when we choose which roles we value as genuine for ourselves, we chance losing other roles which may have held profound power for us. Sometimes the losses are felt with regret, other times with a notion that what was lost had to be lost, for the sake of a true and authentic self. Either way, the wound ripped open by any loss comes with great pain and even doubt at times. Sometimes it seems that one must choose the moments when they give themselves a chance as much as when they ask to be given a chance by those they cherish.

The achingly lovely and celebratory "Save Me" returns, at first, to the narrative of being so "wrapped-up in myself" that one becomes detached and despondent. As it moves, the song lauds the patience and grace of the beloved in making space for that moment, and loving even in light of it.

I find great personal meaning in this song for several reasons. The core being that although it celebrates the concept that someone else can 'save' us, it places the all-too-relevant caveat that only can this be done when "you helped me help myself." As both a counselor and fundamentally as a human being, I believe powerfully in this as a truth-those in our lives who become our saviors are so because they showed us that we could save ourselves. I find that amazingly hopeful and beautiful. What comes with "saving me" is not to heap my burdens solely upon your shoulders, but to love me and support me with radical and resilient acceptance while I carry my load. That is the harder love to show-the one that chooses to support my power to change or repair rather than to usurp it. 

I suppose I could go on about how these (and many, many.....many) other songs speak truths for me in some way, but you likely neither need nor want to hear that. You have your own beautiful truths, and vehicles that express them. Instead, perhaps I'll end with this.....because sometimes you have to stop and see your life with 'eyes wide open'.

Thanks readers, nuts, audiophiles and fellow ephemeral beings ;)

Much love.


Paige

Carry On

Today I am reflecting back on my experience, not just over the past two months, but since I made the choice to place my strictly pragmatic tendencies aside to create and engage with something utterly quixotic. Initially I was burdened with questions; is this sensible? Why do I feel motivated to engage with this so closely? What does it mean for me that I am so interested in it? Will engaging with these feelings be healthy and functional? 

Those questions eventually found profound response and rationale, as I have since been able to concretely witness how my work has made meaning for others, including for the person who unknowingly initiated it.
But now, past those feelings of doubtful competence, I am faced with other realities with which to grapple quietly.

How can I own this work that I have done while honoring the reality that I do not own the art that prompted it? Do I deserve to feel proud, or should I find myself merely indebted to the artist indefinitely?

I suppose I feel some miniscule glimmer of the sense Wally feels about his hit single. It has taken on a life all its own-it has become remote from him, although he was its progenitor.Yesterday he spoke at the annual Wired conference on this exact matter; that some things, when generated or placed within 'the grid', take on their own life-like a bird falling from the nest and floating on air currents upward past its origin.

 Just recently have I been tasked with openly recognizing my part in the story-that in fact my hand has written some of this narrative-one which I never imagined I would be given the chance to interact with. In doing so, I find myself feeling like a fraud-as though I have nothing to be proud of....this is not my creation, it is merely an exaltation of someone else's great and brilliant works. I sometimes feel I am a hollow vehicle for lauding the creativity and beauty of someone outside me. It probably sounds asinine from the outside looking in. I bet as people read this they'll scoff or raise brow in surprise and say to the screen "are you kidding me?" Or perhaps they'll agreed that I am wasting my time or that I need to 'get over myself.' Trust me, I have wondered those same things. No.....not kidding. I really do question it...fairly often. Hello "Smoke & Mirrors" and "Dig Your Own Hole." 

Add caption

 On the important flip-side I am gracious and thankful to interface with this world. I have met and become connected with wonderful, witty and glowing people. I have been challenged and made mistakes and had to repair them. I have become a support in the system which seemed but a distant and lovely world far beyond my straining reach. I dig that, as I would say in everyday life. I am happy to be a cog in the machine, even when it grinds gears or needs a tune-up from time-to-time.

I suppose I am sitting here justifying why I bother-which is silly. I have plenty of reasons, among those reasons are the beautiful people that have come into my orbit as a result. I ought to never take that for granted. I do so love other people, I have committed my career-life to them, after all.

I started writing this before I had my most recent exchange with...shall we call them my "muse?" I was in a different headspace at the start of this post than at the end. I was looking backward and missing what had to be left behind for now. Today I am looking forward, I am fixed on the strange and wonderful gift of this path, this experience, this fundamental shift in my definition of 'who I am' and 'what I do." I am thankful and thrilled to continue watching it unfold, and to someday reflect on it in my final hours in its entirety, alongside all the highest watermarks of my lifetime. What a lovely story it has turned out to be-with the most genuine and beautiful souls all throughout. That is truly a gift I promise never to squander.

Always looking and leaning forward.

(oh and because I realize I need to own my 'work,' here I am...)


--P


c. Paige 2012

Credit & thanks Audra Napolitano for the image!

Two Months with the Music

I've recently returned from almost eight weeks of intermittent adventures in airplanes, cars, hotel rooms and concert halls. It was an experience I'd not imagined I would engage with when this year began. It has been a journey not solely of sound and sight but also of my very soul, as it has awoken parts of what seemed a dormant aspect of my inner reality for many years. Perhaps my time spent aloft, careening through cloud dust and squinting as stage lights sweep across my face will appear a canonical time in my life when reflected upon in my eventual 'final departure.'

 My travels began in Denver-not far from my hometown in Salt Lake City. I'd been there many times before, but this trip meant more-it was my first experience interfacing with the subject of great amounts of creative energy. I had spent months lauding the efforts and intellectual outputs of this fellow, and gathering a following of friends across the globe with similar musical proclivities. Finally I would engage with the maker of my most recently adored aural pleasures directly. I was not so much thrilled or nervous as somehow sensing a state of fruition-that somehow my work to spread the word about the musical mastery of the man they call "Gotye" had brought me full-circle. But I was new to this additional layer transposed onto the otherwise quotidian experience of attending a concert. There was more to this-a sense of responsibility, to myself and others, and ultimately to the performer. I was not yet certain what response fit the experience at hand. I was new and naive and perhaps a bit fascinated in a quiet way.

The first show was at the historic and undeniably majestic Red Rocks. This was the site that staged U2 in their earliest days and the Beatles as they first braved the North American shores to find swarms of frenetic fans. It was the first North American show for Wally and the team in the tour, and what a venue to christen such an occasion!
The night would prove to be technically and physically taxing for the guys, but they left a stunning impression nonetheless. Colorful and bright images cast upon the rippling rock face behind them, and the music filled the rainy atmosphere with joy and excitement. A travel and altitude worn Wally gave his vocal and instrumental energy with brilliant results. After the show, we funneled into a room backstage with but a few other souls and a table of sugary comestibles. Exhausted from travel and a little influenced by the wafting weed smoke from the crowd, I was less that euphoric, but certainly interested to finally meet my muse. We sat in that quiet room for quite some time, talking about music and the like. I watched with a smile as Wally stuffed a doughnut into his mouth and wheeled about in his chair in a half-somnolent, half-playful state. The night ended as he was called away by his staff and we snapped a few humorous images of him in a staged "photobomb." I'll likely not forget his peels of laughter when we viewed the images on the screen before he was whisked away. "See you in Vegas!"

Then it was back home for a while, back to the nine-to-five (or eight-to-seven as is usual for me) for a time. I was at peace knowing that my motivations and efforts had purpose-to help represent the work of a wonderful and truly talented person whom I'd connected with beyond the limited lens of a computer screen.

It was two weeks later that I found myself back on a flight and headed southwest to Las Vegas for another evening in the arms of some of my most beloved sounds. I felt a bit less excited per se, and more prepared to gather an experience to share and relate with those who had joined me in my 'work.'
I could go on about that evening for quite a time, especially the moment at which my newly favorite music man gave a nod to me from the stage that few in the audience even noticed. I could also digress about the challengingly boisterous audience who prompted Wally to halt the performance of the soft and bittersweet Bronte. I could talk of many things that night, but none of them would feel very real to me translated in words on a screen. What I have are my memories, "in the attic in my mind."

It was after that goodbye that I returned to an opulent hotel suite just floors above the Vegas House of Blues to a certain kind of headspace-part thankful and part saddened. What did all of this mean to me? I was tired, so very much so, yet not remotely as much as Wally and his resilient crew. I suppose I was merely deep in genuinely processing the experiences and making some inner meaning of them that no one but me would ever really touch.

It was yet again time to return to the proverbial grind. But there were things to consider, and a sense of missing closure that I had to sit with for a bit before I could find how it fit the puzzle.
It would be just days until I would be making arrangements for another journey, this time father off and away, to see the show once more. I would go about my usual life for some time until I would find myself airborne again.

 Another night, another stage, another balance of joys and frustrations. That was my most recent encounter, just days passed, at the second-to-last North American show for this tour. It was lovely and a little melancholy all at once. I had forged a bond with the music and the maker, one which would be left to linger indefinitely and without concrete resolution.
It was a wonderful night-I cannot deny. Perhaps most salient was meeting fellow members of the community of fans I had created, and witnessing their joy. To share such a moment is perhaps the strongest foundation of human connection, and it warmed me and reminded me that my work had not only touched many, but had become something far more than I could have ever asked. I was overcome with thankfulness and joy to see the results of my labors and those of my cohorts. The night came with some lovely meetings including with tour staff, with the enthusiastic and charming Jonti, two costumed fans and followers of the Wall-Nuts, and my dear Nut friends. Although the reunion with Wally after the show was necessarily rushed (not like the previous) due to a demanding schedule, I was quickly greeted with open arms and a warm and friendly familiar face as I lingered in the corner of the room making space for others to have their meetings. I quickly greeted Tash and wished her well. There were no real goodbyes, there was no time for such things on this occasion, so I watched from my corner as Wally quickly made the rounds and departed hurriedly.I snapped some sudden images of him as he walked out, only partially aware that I would not know the next time I would see him in 'real-life' again.

I find that extraordinary adventures become more routine over time. That sense seems to linger inconveniently until the experience reaches it's inevitable termination. Magic sometimes only seems as such in retrospect, when one finds themselves in quiet longing to return to the experience after it has gone.
There are many feelings to sit with now-I am full of thanks and gratitude, but also some wishes that I would have done certain things differently. Perhaps I could have said something I meant to say but did not, perhaps I could have been more 'selfish' and engaged more rather than stepping back for the sake of others. But in the end I know I acted as my heart and mind felt right, and I am glad those around me were given a chance to interact with the musician we all cherish. His work is shared with all of us-I am immeasurably thankful to have interfaced with it as I did, and I can never really express to Wally my gratitude, for myself and for those others with whom he shared his limited and precious time.

So what happens now? Well, I am committed. I choose to engage with this work indefinitely, to accept the ambiguity that comes inherent in the process, and to make space for my fellow fans and friends to share in the experiences openly. The connections to brilliant and warm people that have been forged in this process are priceless, and I will do all I can to maintain them in realization that so many things in life can be lost in carelessness.
So onward I go, with my newfound friends and allies in tow. I look forward to the moments for those still waiting, and to reminisce from time-to-time with others on those already passed into memory. It has been a wonderful journey, and I hope with all my heart to someday return to it again. Until then I return to my work here, to help open hearts to the gifts given in the music, the message....and the joy shared in its wake.

With immense appreciation for Wally, his supporters and all of my fan friends,

-Paige
"Mum Nut"

14 October, 2012

*note regarding the FB page: we recently did an active member audit checking who wished to remain connected to the facebook group. All members were given one week to respond in any way. If you were dropped due to lack of response please re-request access at the site and you will happily be rejoined! https://www.facebook.com/groups/427503373936709/

Thanks!

Staying in Touch

Over the past decade I had gradually allowed pragmatism to overthrow those things in my life that replenished my soul and kept me in touch with my deeper values. I feel that's part of the burden taken on by choosing to pursue advanced education and join the 'professional' flock. However, I am willing to concede that I also became a bit disenchanted with what pop music was offering me as the two-thousands progressed.

 When I was a teenager and into my early twenties, music was an enduring passion. Several hours a day were spent under the sweeping hands of my choral conductor, scanning sheet music and noting her slight grimace when I slid a note for the sake of good sport.  Although I was young and naive and idealistic, every song I sang fed my soul like nothing else could. In the hardest of times music soothed me, in the greatest joys it extolled my achievements. Music was one of my deepest loves, and I had committed to it since my earliest days as a small child, nestled in the corner with my father's record player and Beatles 45's.

I gave that all up for textbooks and theories and exams. I stored away Medusa, So, Violator, Rubber Soul for the responsibilities of academics. There was no more time for capricious hours alone with the headphones. Gone were the days of cloistering in my room sitting on  the hardwood floor facing the stereo speakers and escaping the conventional.

Just under a year ago, something in me broke away from the system. Some ghost in the machine began to combat my stoic compliance with business as usual. I cannot say what happened initially-as the protagonist in my beloved novel High Fidelity would say; "what came first, the music or the misery?" Perhaps it was the sudden thrust of loss and change in my life that lead me back to that space I'd not existed in for ten years. Perhaps it was the music that awoke the hibernating muse of my past. Perhaps it matters not how or why something changed, but it did, and not in the transient manner I suspected at first.

 Suddenly music re-entered my life with fervor. Something that once was lost was found. Although, at the time, my life seemed to be crumbling to dust in many ways, I had music--I had solace. Part of my mind/heart/soul that had been dormant re-invigorated and spurred me on through an autumn of loss, fear, pain and victory. Not only did I love again-I loved more profoundly than ever before. I hungered for the moment to leave my daily work to shut the car door, slide a disk into the player and regain my center as I made my way home. During the day the music echoed in my mind. I even dreamed of music-I heard it crystal clear through the darkness. I could feel the sounds bubbling within my chest until I could escape to an empty room and sing at the top of my now attenuated lungs. Although the voice that came from me was sometimes weak and unrefined, I remembered that once I could fill a room with ringing. I knew someday I would regain my strength.

Today I celebrate the power that music has had for me every day. Never before in my life has it moved me so. Now I spend giddy evenings returning to the once beloved haunts of the local record shop, flipping through the sonic sweets and squealing when a treasure susses out from the milieu. You can find me half-dancing in my car or my jaw unhinged as I belt out to today's aural selection. You'll hear the music leaking from the rafters and floorboards at home in the night.

Or perhaps you can find me in the crowd at a concert, my eyes welling with tears, my mouth moving along with the music and my body swaying in spiritual sychronicity. If you find me there, and if you feel as I do, tap my shoulder and let us experience the fathomage of sounds that speak to us like no other messages can. That is my perfection-my place where I am safe, brave and enlightened.

Thank you to all who share the music with me, and to those who make it-it is a boundless gift.


~~~c. Paige 2012~~

Giving a Damn

Yesterday I sat through eight straight hours at a professional conference, as is a common procedure for folks of my ilk. After years of towing this line, topics presented at sessions become a little repetitive.
Fortunately, the afternoon brought me an hour of relief in the form of a provocative presentation on the slant of the "ethic of care" originally conceptualized by Foucault and expanded upon by several contemporaries of eclectic disciplines. Distilled down to a simplest form, this is the notion that one must treat all who enter their 'circle' with caring and warmth, and that in turn those who receive care will be expected to pass that caring on to someone else. I realized that term "caring" in itself is a bit vague, as it encompasses many possible interpretations based on culture, values, morals, etc.

I considered the concept from many angles, initially within my own responsibilities as a therapist. It made perfect sense for my own professional bend to engage with and commit to an ethic of care, but I also began to consider what it meant for those who create art-which is easily as emotionally salient as any session with a competent shrink.

So how does the ethic of care transpose onto those in our society we call the 'creatives?' Is there any social responsibility contingent upon being a professional creator? It seems art is decently justified by its aesthetic and sensory stimulation alone, but is there any ethical imperative bound to it? Is an artist expected to create something that speaks to others in a profound way such that they will share that inspiration with others? It seems that is an inherent tendency of art, but is it requisite?

I considered, of course, the practices of one of my favorite musos in this cognitive expedition. That can be equally blamed on my pseudo-enmeshment in representing his work as well as the fact that his music tends to pervade my car radio-and often my most unhinged cogitations occur whilst on the motorway.


It seems that although the ethic of care is not a precondition of artistry, some creatives choose to engage with it of their own socially and self-aware volition. Someone else that comes to mind here is the lovely Jess McAvoy, fellow Oz muso friend whose open engagement with caring for her listeners is refreshing and genuine. She openly advocates for collaboration and accessibility with her listening community. Her willingness to interface with and even seek ideas from her fans is remarkable and appealing. A major tip of the proverbial hat for her.

 Regardless of market standing and mass-appeal, some artists make a conscious decision to give a damn about those who absorb their work, and to commit significant energy to acknowledge that.
 Some may argue that in the current social media sphere, engagement is desultory and meaningless, and that the work itself is best focused on the art rather than the lovers of it.

As a non-professional creative (vocal performance, written word and occasional visual works) myself, I tend to hold that those who find meaning in your work are those who give your work meaning. Yes, the artist themselves put profound value in their expression, but with no souls to touch, the work might transform to silence. Like stories, they are meaningless jumbles of words if never shared with other minds.This is, of course, my own moral value, and I own it openly, but perhaps you agree? Perhaps there is a social justice imperative hidden in the process of creation?

I am increasingly impressed and refreshed by the apparent inclusion of some ethic of care by my most valued familiars in the current musical world.They are creative people who have chosen to engage with those who support, speak-out for and commit to their art. These are people who have taken the precious time and energy to remember that without those listeners, their art might exist in a lonely vacuum. For choosing that commitment alone they deserve admiration. In combination with their creative brilliance, their ethic of caring makes them truly extraordinary artists.

In other words, cheers y'all! 


~~~c. Paige 2012~~~

An artist must be free to choose what he does, certainly, 

but he must also never be afraid to do what he might choose.

-Langston Hughes

~~~

 

It's hard enough to stand for your values and needs in the day-to-day meanderings of normal life. By the explicit and implicit messages floating about that affirm our inadequacy, it is all too easy to acquiesce. We then find ourselves mired in efforts to fulfill others' expectations of us, or to compete with those who should be our collaborators. Eventually we construct durable obstacles around our own sense of self-efficacy as well as potential relationships that could lead to profound growth. We also close ourselves down to the moments of inspiration that could punctuate the noise of the workaday. 

 

By far the most critical voices are the ones within our own minds-always searching for sparks yet apparently assuming they could not possibly already reside within us.

 

One can imagine this is no different for those whom have been granted some level of extraordinary recognition. In fact, it's feasible to assume that with greater power comes even further pressure against one's sense of foundation. The slightest slip of word, misinterpretation or preconceived notion can shift meanings all over the board.That is especially rampant in the current context, in which myriad miscommunications are apparently constant and widely disseminated.

 

I usually spend a decent amount of time here deconstructing my own notions about art and the makers, obviously as prompted by one specific artist. 

 

Today I think I would rather just acknowledge the challenges faced by Wally and the resilience reflected in his chosen responses. It takes a truckload of pluck to be as genuine as he is, even when he does it more cautiously. Yes, he could likely veer off and do whatever the hell he desired by now, having reached a significant level of acclaim. But he chooses to place himself in a space that is artistically available to those who appreciate his work. Furthermore, he recognizes his own strengths and limitations in a way that is candid yet dynamic. That is a fine balance of deep self-awareness. That, in my opinion, is the watermark of an artist who is truly moved by their chosen medium, and willing to bare themselves to both its inherent joys and burdens. Cheers, Wally.

~~~c. Paige 2012

Subversive Dialogue

Recently I've read a few less than laudatory reviews of shows across the current American leg of the Gotye world tour. As expected, initially I was righteously indignant and puffed with botheration, readying myself to wield shield and sword in verbose defence of my musical friend.

Rather than defer to my occasionally elitist uber-supporter tendencies, I chose to challenge myself to sit with the reflections of those who did not see as I see. What did it mean to me to have my values challenged?
As is oft the vexatious case, I came about a stream of concept at the remote, wee hour of 1am. As a confidently identified and constructing Feminist mental health practitioner, I believe in the power of those messages (be they explicit or implicit) that slither beneath the surface of the accepted popular culture or socio-political parlance. Needless to say it took a beer and a serious think to bring forth a singular term that encapsulates Wally's music. The verbiage my electrified brain settled upon was this: subversive.

Now, this is generally a tricky term to espouse as it tends to carry a negative or anarchist connotation. However, subversion is often the catalyst to enlightenment. It is iconoclastic and tectonic, and can shift insidious complacency towards change and growth. So-what manner of subversive semi-synth sample pop music is the product here? Is it an exercise in  deconstruction or genesis? Perhaps it's a yin-yang balance of both.

  Is this why the music can appeal so viscerally to some yet fall short of inspiration for others? Is that the nature of any art? Or is there a resistance to imbibe a concoction comprised of elements not like the accepted norm? Can it be distilled down to the simple dynamic of taste? Or is it a challenge to the order in power and thus a creature to be oppressed lest it storm the gates and alter the system entirely.

It is hard to pin-down the rationale for walking out of a show mid-set after the ubiquitous radio hit pays its dues. What perhaps can be captured is the apparent possibility that the starkly non-trad and innovative MO of Wally a.k.a Gotye subverts the contemporary pop zeitgeist in a fashion that is bound to be loved by many and misunderstood perhaps in equal share.

I'll own my shit in my honesty that I am of the "I get it" ilk. 
Then again I love subversive things.

~~~ c. Paige 2012~~~

Slow Burn

Multiple shows in the states have come and gone in the recent leg of the Gotye world tour. Some have occurred in historical spaces, others in small and aurally attenuated boxes doing minimal justice to the finely crafted sounds presented. Such seems the nature of art in motion.
Some listeners apparently came for a single song, reminiscent of the somewhat disappointing diaspora post-hit at Coachella earlier this year. Other listeners were dubious at first but soon awoke to the musical mastery of the performance. Still others, like myself and my 'colleagues in commitment,' came to absorb the raw interpretations of the music we have come to adore amongst our all-time favorites.
From whimsy to romance to blunted anguish and back, the set sweeps across a gamut of all-too recognizable emotion. There's nothing especially spectacular about the show-not in the giant martini olive ethos of U2 a'la Pop Mart tour and the like. Yes there are clever and engaging visuals, and the occasional (and joyful) frenetics of the band as they bound about the stage to shift from one instrument to the next. But the performance feels more parsimonious and soft, like the hypnotic nature of the music itself. Even the most uppity and energized songs take on an entirely gentle and lovable tone, prompting one to enjoy the music without a sense of reckless abandon. It's as though Wally and co. are engaging the listener in a conversation-about self-doubt, self-reflection and profound self-awareness. It may not be a set conducive to the antics of tossed beach balls and the Depeche Mode-Rose Bowl en masse arm wave, but it enchants and enrapts and leaves the listener feeling entirely satisfied.

But enough of my ranting-have some others' instead. They are apparently 'professionals' of that field. Enjoy!

http://heisthewallrus.com/

Photo: C. De Neve











~~~Cheerio!~~~

c. Paige 2012

Walking In Your Shoes

This is the 100th post of this blog....months of musings and deconstructions inspired by the art and apparent ubiquity of one man. Fascinating, really.

I recently returned from my first physical exploit into the inner orbit of the music and the maker. Until now my experience has been as a collaborator, supporter and occasional adviser through more remote means. Now I have crossed a threshold into a world that both fascinates and enervates with a shockingly simultaneous force. I purport to know nothing....believe me. I am still bewilderingly naive. It is a world of remarkable and daunting complexity.

  

There's probably ten million things I could say about the experience, hours of stories to weave and countless ways to fabricate them together to captivate and enthrall. But perhaps the most salient part of my little adventure was a glimpse into the raw demand of artistry and fame. There is little glory at midnight, post-show, malingering about the craftworks table and deconstructing all the ways in which great performance expectations can go to shithouse because of inclement weather,  lofty altitude and myriad technical hiccups. But none of that is seen by the fans, the great 'professional' appreciators. It all looks like shimmer and dazzle from the stands. I can say now that the view from the stage is much more coarse and complicated.




Let's face it-it is relatively easy to exist in the minimally hazardous space of 'fandom.' Yes, it comes with a unique set of issues, but from a wider lens, said issues are generally easily resolved. From the perspective of an appreciator, the art seems effortless. Like a nimble dancer in motion, every move we witness seems as second nature to the performer. It seems to numb us to the reality of the inner work done by the artist to regale us with their apparent brilliance.
I have come to see through that wider lens, and in a tiny way through that which is the view of our favorite musical master. He belabors his craft, to share with us some aspect of his fundamental humanity. In return we laud him and place upon his all-too mortal and fragile shoulders the expectation that his music could perhaps deliver us from our pains, our trials, our stressors and banalities. Is it an inordinate expectation? I don't know, and I'll not assume to possess the wisdom to judge that. It is what it is, and I willingly own my role in that reality.

I am grateful to see the glory from its greyer shades, and to be privy to the numerous challenges heaped upon the process of touring one's trade across a giddy globe. I only tasted it for 48 fleeting hours and found myself spent and even a bit saddened, to be candid. I can see now in some desultory fashion how grueling the process can be, and how remarkably resilient the performer is in his willingness to soldier on in the name of music. That alone is powerful and poignant.

Now for a time I return to the space of a fan and supporter, and with fresh eyes and new considerations. I hope that my education is only beginning, I am an eager but self-aware pupil. I am green and wide-eyed and readying myself to explore these worlds with 'eyes wide open.'

There is more to be done, and another grueling yet appreciated agenda soon arriving, but I am confident that I can manage my existence within this space with greater love for the artist and my fellow fans. Sometimes we must witness the world through others' eyes so that we can better view with clarity through our own.

Perhaps, in some way, this is only a beginning to the story.....

~~~~Much love to you all and to my dear 'fremd'~~~~

c. Paige 2012

Why I Love This Gig

This is the 99th post of this blog, and in celebration of the utter brilliance and comic quality of my fellow Wall-Nuts, I dedicate this post to just a recent sampling of the simply hilarious comments they make on a daily basis. They have left me in some of the finest laughter-induced tears of my lifetime. I could never go back and archive all of them, and frankly everyone has at least once said something that made me laugh to the point of silent gasps. These comments will be especially hilarious as they are utterly out of context and I seem to think that makes them all the funnier. 

 -I heard it getting my herrs did.

-any time Cris says anything even mildly suggestive 

  -a few days after I bought making mirrors, I spent several evenings singing along in the bathroom, pretending it’s my recording studio.

 -It smells like wine and old women

 -He intimidates me a wee bit in this picture, and I like it. ;)

- I imagined him as my "sexual education" teacher

- I don't need a recipe. I just need a willing partner

-50 shades of cray

 -hey, I think there's enough space in the bed for the nuts :D

 -*snort*

  -have Wallffles give it a good wing slap

-Gahan Face

-My husband said that I was subordinated from You

 -Enjoy your wee adventure

 -"él es un bomboncito"

 -he's holding himself... cause even he knows he's so darn snuggle-icious!

 -he has birdy legs

 -the nuts' have a mass-funeral when we all shuffle-off the mortal coil. Waldo sings "Thanks For Your Time" with rude language interlude and all, and we hold it under a giant circus tent. We shall be interred in huge record sleeves and dressed in our finest formal Faux Pas tee shirts and skinny jeans.

 -Shmenuendos

 -I. DIDN'T.EAT.THIS.DAMNED.COC

ONUT.FUDGE

 -Oddly enough I was walking through the men's underwear section at the time. So I did have to stay there longer than I needed to.

 There are soooo many more I wish I could go back and find, but this may offer some idea of just how delightful these folks can be!  It's amazing. 

Much love to all of you, and all fans of our shared "Muppet from the neck uppet (that one was mine :} )

 -P

 

Lifting Off

It's Friday, earliest morning hours in Melbourne, Australia....1:45am. The sky is quiet.

It is also a day to be filled with frenetics and business and preparations for a sweep across a giddy globe, regaling countless hearts and minds with stories that they have come from far and wide to hear. The troubadours labor long and hard to reach us in their weary travels.

 I myself embark on a parallel journey soon, one which supplants my daily life for a time. One which is the current high watermark of a path I began walking months ago. It seems like years. So many things can puzzle themselves together to form a picture one never expected when they only saw the fragments in front of them at the hapless beginnings.
I feel the gentle pull of a thread now-tied to my heart-it holds tension and leads me forward from time-to-time. As the coming days pass, the thread will pull harder and more often, until I find myself drawn forth to the origin. Once there, I cannot say what my heart will feel, perhaps a sense of quiet calm-that the string drew me to a place where I....belong? Perhaps it will burst. Only in the moment will I be capable of touching the feeling entirely. Until then I hold my hand to my chest on occasion, and feel the tempered tug.

 We all begin to prepare for the journey, as those who will join it at certain intervals across the world. It may seem an entirely quotidian event, a simple night of musical meanderings. For many of us it is a moment to interface with one of our clearest inspirations.
Some have been driven to great works in response to those of our 'favorite boy.' That is a power not to be minimized. A great force of brilliance and fortitude is required to suss out the silent voices of our genuine nature, be they musical, visual, verbose, physical or emotional. We all carry tiny creatures in our hearts that lie dormant until something truly moving causes them to stir and burst forward. At first their liberation is painful, but when they reach their purpose, all comes full circle and clear as crystal.

But let us not forget the spiraling journey of our source of inspiration as we embark on our own travels. Let us not forget the rigours and challenges and joys and constraints of his appointments with the world. Let us respect his space and his own heart as it sends sparks into the air. It is a gift he gives us; to bother bringing that across oceans and mountains to share so joyously.

Be moved by the music, and be moved most of all to move yourself in response, whatever that may mean for you. And when the moment is over, return to the house to gather and tell your stories, to share your own sparks with one another.
Through those tales will live a legacy that we may all recall when our time in this grander journey of life comes to an end. Those are the things that live on past our mutable mortal selves.

And think on the years yet to come, when we will return to these journeys, we and our favorite boy, and we will rejoice once again together. May there be many of them still to come, and even grander!

In thankful excitement for all!



~~~c.Paige 2012

On the Legend's Ledge

Tonight's thoughts warrant some musical introduction-the clip below may help it sink a little deeper, I hope. This song embedded itself in my brain during the usual flow of conversation on our facebook page. The central concept of the potential 'end of innocence' is where something deeper started in my thoughts.
 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NLONgF8a_Ig&feature=g-hist

The idea fleshed out over a latte and ridiculous french chocolate mousse dessert at the local late-night cafe, in the company of my sweet other half who munched pear, walnut (appropriate) and goat cheese bruschetta (and is known for a shared affinity for Wally's music.)

What happens when someone stands at the precipice of a future yet unknown-one which could make them a legend that lives immortally amongst those artists in our history who created canonical work? The U2's, Beatles, Madonnas of the music world? The legend's ledge, you might say?
What does it feel like, to stand at the anxious edge of that cliff, yet unsure what shall come if one's fate is to step over the edge and dive into the ocean? Is there fear or joy in that space? Is there even an awareness by the maker that they stand in that moment, at the brink? What if we have already witnessed the high watermark of Wally's career, and he slinks back into the role of a 'one hit' musician? Which path would be the more pleasant for the artist? For the fans? I know what many have expressed as their preference.

After initially mulling this over, I returned to the recent ABC1 interview (thanks to sister fans from regions with rapid access) wherein Wally talks about the detached feelings about his hit song, as well as how his life has changed, sometimes in overwhelming fashion. Arguably, the path has been especially steep for near a year now, and perhaps even as far back as his emergence as a musical force in AUS with the hit "Heart's A Mess."

Fewer than two weeks from today, Wally and co. embark on the largest tour they've ever produced via his Gotye moniker. Four months of immersion in the work of years prior will be displayed across the world, to ever larger and more hungry throngs of listeners.

What does this shift mean for the 'fans,' do we stand behind him equally liable to tumble over the cliff as he does? Who will fall into the waters behind him? Will we sink or swim? Will he?

Will we be little grey geriatrics reminiscing on the days when we watched a legend being born to a bright and treacherous world? Will we recount the glories and hazards our 'favourite boy' survived, becoming the vocal strains of a generation? What does it mean....how does it mean.....to be immortal? Has Wally already sealed himself as such in some way, with the force of one herculean hit? Will he become a perennial presence for the next couple decades, as some of our most recognized artisans, with a string of reliable works that speak with similar force to their predecessors?

Are we witnessing the birth of a musical mythos that will have been part of the essential soundtrack of our lives? Will we gather one day-those of us left-and mourn his passing, as have so many before us, on the final breaths of our musical master? Will Wally leave this place, as we all must eventually, having changed the world? I certainly think so. Then again I am biased, and willing, nay, happy to admit it!

Is this the end of innocence for our beloved musician? Is it the end of a life more ordinary, more calm, more private and peaceful? Could it be the end of the open-hearted artist we've come to respect, in may ways for his genuine tone and apparent immunity to fame? If his tone changed it would only seen rational, with greater access comes greater oppression, comes greater need to protect ones self.

On the shoulders of giants, do we lose our innocent perspective from the days when we stood solid on the ground?

I suppose I ask more questions than I seek to respond to. I am unable to do so-I know that. I haven't the barometer. I am still down here on the ground, looking up at the giants and occasionally tapping their toes, asking how the weather is all the way up there in the clouds.

~~~ c. Paige 2012


***thanks nut Cynthia for locating the above brilliant pic!