exponentiation ezine: issue [1.0: culture]
Music
Blood Axis & Les Joyaux de la Princesse - La Folie Verte (Athanor, 2002)
"I Am The Green Fairy My Robe Is The Color Of Despair I Have Nothing In Common With The Fairies Of The Past What I Need Is Blood, Red and hot The Palpitating Flesh Of My Victims Alone, I Will Kill France, The Present Is Dead, Vive the Future..."
As shocking or confusing may it be for a Blood Axis fan to listen to Michael Moynihan introducing their latest album with the exact words "I Am The Green Fairy", this is quite indeed the case. The forbidden beverage of the damned romanticist artists of pre-war Paris, absinthe - the Green Madness, inspires Blood Axis for a fast trip, along with their French collaborators Les Joyaux De La Princesse, into the emerald abyss of a world wrapped up and drowning into decadence. Diverging from the Nietzchean, will-to-power aesthetic and musical explorations of their first album, The Gospel of Inhumanity, this particular album will suprise and bring forth a lot of questions to the listener. However, such is the virtue of great artists; their unexpectedness and unwillingless to conform shall always be the backbone of their success.
The bitter drink of Absinthe, also called artemisia absinthium (apsinthion = undrinkable in Greek), is mainly wormwood, a poisonous herb that was mixed with wine and given to Olympic winners long ago to remind them of the biterness of defeat. Not to mention, of course, the 80% alchohol. Absinthe's effects are brutally intoxicating and hallucinogenic; many absintheurs described their experience in terms of opium or cocaine usage. As a result, this drink first brought to France by troops who fought in Algeria and used it as a pain-reliefer, was popularized in Paris during the years 1880-1914 and quickly become the favorite of avantgarde, bohemian, or disaffected artists that found in it a source of inspiration. Van Gogh's dazzling, trembling pictures were inspired in part by the liquor's effects, along with the blackened visions of Edgar Alan Poe, Verlain and many others.
The album's first sounds are as peculiar as one would expect; Moynihan declaims the poem which opens this very article while a heavy echo effect causes the verses to clash with one another; a violin steps in to comment with a tragic melody, but it is played in a manner reminding of an drunk absintheur trying to put some notes together moments before passing out in a Parisian bar of ill repute. As this fades, a chaos of various sounds of singers in crescendo, war drums and orchestras all passed through reverb and echo filters emerges, but slowly the chaos is organized and the samples are lined up correctly so that the first industrial track of the album is produced. At this point, an experienced listener of neo-classical industrial music will recognize the dreamlike soundscapes of the album as the work of the French avantgardist in charge of L.J.D.L.P. While there is no mention over the (luxurious and exquisitely adorned with old absinthe advertisements and even government flyers showing alcoolique degenerres types) booklet over who is responsible for the music, the resemblance between this recording and "Die Weisse Rose" and "Croix De Feu" is striking, not only in the use of samples and keyboards, but in the general longing for 1900-40 music, ideas and ideologies (a characteristic of Blood Axis and the other bands in the neofolk/industrial scene).
To portray in a poetic but also realistic way the influence of absinthe into the psychic world of its fanatical consumers, the collaboration chooses poems from artists of the time that provide an insight from a personal view to the delights and horrors of being addicted to the drink. Moynihan's voice is crucial to this effect, as he retains the vigorous and epic quality characteristic of all Blood Axis recordings, while its fierceness makes an interesting antithesis to the tragical, self-destructing tales of the poets. Moreover, popular music of the 1900s is used throughout the album, either performed as small piano interludes, or directly "borrowed" from LPs. There lies a defect of not only this disk, but of most in its category; the fact that a great deal of the music is being ripped off from other recordings may annoy some listeners, but we must understand that the artists here function as a radiophone of some kind; they exhibit the atmosphere and the "soundcolours" of the time, in the same way as a documentary or a radio show would.
The best parts of the album are the long industrial/ambient tracks, in which the talent of both bands is unfurled. The dismal, noisy and crowling Absinthe (D' Apres Emile Duhem), the nightmarish Poison Vert, consist of repetitive sampled melody, noisy loops in the backround and long keyboard notes drowned into multiple layers of effects. The keyword describing this style is Ambience, in part because the concept is a hallucinogenic drink.
After the singing of the tenor in the last song fades out, the initial question is left unanswered: What prompted these particular artists to undertake such a project, especially when it is associated with the fall rather than with the rise of spirit? Apart from the obvious fact that the artists are themselves are absintheurs, whatever opens new borders for human thought can be studied, not embraced but looked upon. Artists are necessarily not philosophers or politicians, but mostly storytellers; they depict elements of thought we may have not experienced by our own, and sometimes no judgement or aphorisms are needed from their side; what we shall gain from them is our own matter. It seems, one can sing warmongering praises to the Pan-Germanic spirit and at the same time hold a bottle of glowing opaline in his right hand... - Lycaon
Biosphere - Cirque (Touch, 2000)
From Norwegian ambient artist Biosphere comes this follow-up to the heavily acclaimed 1997 album "Substrata." As in that release, a naturalistic theme pervades this work although this time it is based on a story of a man making an ill-fated venture into the Alaskan wilderness. With no lyrics or text, the story is more something to be musically alluded to than told in any concrete way. That being said, Biosphere's characteristic style works well with the subject material. It is a depiction of lone human elements journeying through a vast, desolate and gently chaotic world only to find harmony and transcendence within it. A surging pattern falls within a deceptively complex texture of fragmentary, subtly divergent melody. Thematically conflicting two and three note figures may come together and pull apart in repeating cycles as one asserts itself over the other to disorientating effect and then fades and echos into the other melodic idea.
The use of found sounds from nature and modern technological life is a frequently used device in Biosphere pieces, and "Cirque" is no exception. They are the alienated traces of technological civilization existing within naturalistic landscapes of sound. While some things have stayed the same, other things are different than the last album.
Keyboard lines have a definite rhythm as opposed to the liquid divisions of notes heard on "Substrata," and to some people's disappointment, there are actual beats. This criticism is relevant for some tracks. While the percussion can be tasteful, understated and even musically essential, other instances use more conventional drum and bass and house beats that would have better been left out because of their intrusiveness.
Fortunately, this complaint is a minor and should not detract the listener from the excellent taste in melody, tone color and arrangement displayed here. If unpretentious, spirited ambient music that is actually musical is your thing, this release may appeal, as will "Shenzou," a reworking of ideas from Debussy pieces into Biosphere's characteristic ambient form. - Sothis
Tangerine Dream - Phaedra (Virgin, 1974)
The 1974 album from the German electronic legends Tangerine Dream broke ground and still stands as an example of a controlled and visionary work, proving itself with each passing year to be an eternal art work of high importance. This is high art in every way, influential beyond words, bringing with it a whole slew of creations that had bands in the electronic fields playing catch up and following in line. "Phaedra" is a passionate sound stream from idealistic visionaries, which explores experimental realms with the new electronic sequencers that were new to the decade. Where "Atem" established the band as a visionary force willing to explore the new synthesizer and electronic musical tools that were emerging throughout the 1970s, "Phaedra" established the band as a perennial and everlasting musical force and logically picks up the soundscapes laid out by "Atem" and helps further develop what would become known as the classic Tangerine Dream sound.
Four tracks lasting a total of 38 minutes comprise this album, which takes one on a celestial voyage through art and time. Recurring conceptual sound motifs weave their way into the blend of electronic sound mastery, along with harmonic innovation making this album a complete conceptual piece broken into four tracks, much like Vivaldi's "Four Seasons" or Gustav Holst's "The Planets" in those respects. The sounds of this album wander into the paradoxes of the surrealists, grasping their sense of absurdity and ability to evoke a dream state and Tangerine Dream extract these things with the focus of a Zen warrior.
The production is clear and roomy, reminiscent of a crystal ballroom or an underwater aquarium. Listening to the sounds of the album is like dipping one's head into a cold water and listening to the dinging of chimes. The synth work creates a cosmic condition, a whole universe in which the music echoes and explores itself freely. The listener becomes like the astronaut floating in the void of space. At times during this album it is reminiscent of sonic interpretations of Stanley Kubrick's "2001: A Space Odyssey." At times it feels like what it must be like to sit on the edge of a glacier as it starts to crack and slip into the ice, since a chilling mood chips away at the subconscious and then finally breaks away entirely into a world of its own, a dreamlike condition. "Phaedra" effectively suspends the listener gut wrenching state in which transcendental emotions arise.
The album induces translucent trances where the primordial meets the cosmic, which is perhaps not too far from William Blake's visions when he stated "eternity knows not the production of time." That is the essential paradox of Tangerine Dream: a symphonic bliss that both emanates traditional tribal elements along with progressive musical elements and in doing so screams out that history is an organic system in which the past is the future and the future is the past; time is not a factor to these sounds, they are somehow otherworldly and transcendental. "Phaedra" is a piece of musical art that will withstand the test of time. When trends and music that is merely social entertainment fades into dust with the coming of the winds, Tangerine Dream's masterworks will stand strong in the vast abyss like the Sphinx out of the timeless desert sands. - phantasm
Allerseelen - Gotos=Kalanda (AOR, 1995)
Few bands have showed originality in industrial music matching the Austrian masters of (in their own words) technosophic avantgarde, Allerseelen. Headed by the charismatic Kadmon, an occultist researcher (whose zine, Aorta/Ahnstern, covers pagan Europe and religion) and experimentalist musician, Allerseelen broken through with an album that has initiated them into the elite company of neoclassical/traditionalist/ethnocultural industrial bands.
"Technosophic," imbuing techno(logy) with sophia (wisdom) by using the inner soul (Aller - Seelen), making ends meet, tradition and technology, the achievements of the present age and the ideology of the past: in this album it is manifestated thematically by the writings of Karl Maria Wiligut, an Austrian poet, mystic and runes initiate of the second world war era. It is a collection of twelve (as many as the tracks of the album) symbolic, almost codified poems dedicated to the twelve months of the year, an apotheosis of nature's eternal and cyclical form. No wonder the pagan symbol of the black twelve-rayed sun adorns the cover.
Consequently, the Austrians gradually underline the passing of the seasons in the mood of their music and convey the spiritual and mainly, mystical value of the poems. A demanding challenge, indeed, as the reader could observe the similarities of the case with Stravinsky's "Rite of the Spring" and apparently the precedent under which the artist's work could be judged.
Contrasting the typical industrial formula of structuring music in layers of noise loops or melodies replacing each other randomly for the sake of rhythymic variation, Allerseelen maintain either a steady but compound and intricate drum beat that is reminiscent of trance music, or more simplistic patterns of traditional techno when the rhythym reverts to "austere", typical Indo-European ritual or marchlike cadences. Under it a series of events take place, either providing the musical element of the tracks in the form of ambient keyboard melodies, sampled strings or with Kadmon's characteristic bass and voice, creating impressionistic soundscapes of aggresive, psychedelic, trancelike sounds coming from a variety of samples of natural sounds (frogs croaking, thunders striking and the like), human voices, distorted loops of orchestra instruments or even metal/hardcore guitars utilized as noise sources rather than structure. Harsh production focusing on high frequencies enhances the anti-commercial quality of the album and further expands the occult and, often, militant feeling.
Allerseelen's main characteristic is the true folk (and apparently, Germanic) character that heavily marks the spirit of the work and its themes, not a stagnant imitation of certain melodies or use of instruments but the transfiguration of the folkish soul to the present age and its representation to the modern, alienated public. Kadmon uses for such a goal simplistic and harsh melodies of an adolescent, dionysian character that sometimes range only a semitone back and forth, while the violent noisy backround pins down and makes the listener subjective to the message, yet awakens and activates in the way all non-decadedent and prolific art should affect its subject. The best (among equals) part of the album lies in the winter - beginning and end - sections; it is also easy to observe that Kadmon keeps his coldest/harshest material for the equivalent sections, while the spring/summer ones have a more blooming, youthful, abrupt feeling.
As a whole, the work is representative of the German traditional romanticist spirit; rather than adapting the rational, progressive approach of classicism (in terms of structure) Allerseelen instead choose to stress the boundaries of expression; not in the usual subjective, random manner of "avant-garde" but with the strict, disciplined and focused dedication to small parts of music that are completed by all means of aesthetic and psychological development. They are minimalist in a classical, adventurous and non-stagnant way. This album may not be the least-affronting introduction to the style of which Allerseelen are leaders, but it is their artistic peak and defines it as the continuation of the spirit that pionners of electronic music like Kraftwerk and Tangerine Dream have introduced. - Lycaon
Regan, High Priestess - Sellisternia (High Priestess Productions, 2002)
Dropping into the unsteady fusion between modern electronic music and remnants of dark ancient cultures, this release from High Priestess Productions is musically powerful when it escapes the confusion of wanting to be both ritual music and pop at the same time. Generalizing about these songs is not accurate, as they range between degrees of the manifold styles comprising their complexion, but the basic elements are a collision between Aphex Twin and Dead Can Dance, with 1940s lounge music hiding in the wings. Showcased most elegantly is vocalist Regan's singing, which is alternatingly smoothly ascendant and breathily timbral, creating a rough edge which bites into the smoother synthesizer sounds used as the melodic basis of the music. Percussion of a digital nature provides understructure in the way a techno band might use it, with layers of accent within the same tempo structure zooming into and out of view as each song moves through its sections.
Sequenced digital instruments fit tightly to this framework or almost completely deny it, roughly echoing the two major motifs of this band. One is the earthy and sensual, beat-fixed driving pop music that alleviates any sense of pretense to the record, and the other is the Dead Can Dance portion of its primal build, which is wafting cloudbursts of slowly changing notes which sustain a somber but gaily mysterious mood. Where this band is strongest is in writing the hook-laden keyboard riffs that propel its more energetic works, and in weaving together the darker melodic constructions that give it some space for tantalizing obscurity; its weakness relates entirely to its division between pop and something perhaps more ambitious, as the drumbeats are too busy and altogether too present to avoid interrupting the music. Often, some shortcuts are taken that conform to existing styles of songwriting; while these aren't incompetent, they aren't necessary either, and here is why: the second half of this album is where the band shows an unbroken stamina and latent creativity, writing songs in the style of lounge acts from the first half of the last century, completed cryptically with sultry but aggressive female vocals.
These songs break from the verse-chorus mold entirely at times, and use both rhythmic and textural interludes to create a vacuum ahead of the arrival of each section, so that the listener is kept suspended from anything finite as a full-on pop band would deliver. Sometimes even the insistent percussion slacks off a bit, and keyboard phrases get sparser, as if given a new sense of meaning and cause in song. These are the works from this band that are openly approaching excellence, and suggest a hybrid style that invokes the mystery of both recent and far past, as Eastern scales and dissonant vocals bend around lush yet realistic work. "Sellisternia" is a first effort, and shows some struggle over defining sound, but as the second half of the album illustrates, when its wide-ranging parts synthesize a sublime power emerges. - vijay prozak
Hekate - Sonnentanz (Well of Urd, 1999)
Hekate is a German neo-folk project masterminded by Axel Heinrich Menz and Achim Weiler and backed by a generous staffing of musicians. Hekate set themselves apart from a genre often distinguished by mediocrity dressed up as "epic" moodscapes. Eschewing academic pretensions for heartfelt musicality and tasteful "filler" parts, this album merits a listen on artistic grounds alone.
"To Break A Heart" lets synth, flute and acoustic guitar set the mood for a spoken poetry recital. A seemingly personal grief is transformed when the militant melody and snare cadence come in to transfrom the feeling into a mixture of national lament and warrior-like determination.
"Findhorn" is a haunting ambient piece. Eerie, simple melodies harmonize and grow off each other from the two note phrase at the beginning, to the flanged-out vocal line subtly making its presence known. Percussion keeps a tasteful distance but is effective in adding an ominous element.
"Fatherland" is probably the most overtly nationalistic tune on here. Each stanza of vocal melody suspends itself into space and leads back into itself for a reiteration of an increasingly desperate tone. On the last stanza it concludes with a stable cadence, but suddenly the song breaks into a triumphant celtic folk romp. The unique tension reminds me of hearing someone lost in a state of sad recollection of their world and reaching a profound conclusion of its signifigance. In essence, it is the confronting of loss and confusion to find something in it joyful and transcendent.
"Danse de l'obscurite" may be the best song on the album. Male and female vocals trade parts while an underlying melody is given periodic room for development between singing. Inventive chord progressions are simple but give a nice harmonic backing to the compelling melodic interplay. Strangely enough, college-town REM comes to mind hearing this.
This is one of the rarer Hekate releases, but it is worth the search. "Sonnentanz" is an absorbing drama with a knack for hooking the listener in with inspired, melodic songwriting. - Sothis
Sol Invictus - Lex Talionis (Tursa, 1989)
It is not easy to ascertain what in the aesthetic of early industrial music triggered the neo-folk movement; how could the aggresive, anti-moral and nihilist nature of that music appeal to the same artists who appreciate gentle and modest traditional music? Sol Invictus answer that question as not only adepts but for the most part innovators of the neo-folk style.
Sol Invictus mastermind Tony Wakeford already had a history in the underground London scene before forming his own band; anarchist punk band Crisis and neo-folk pioneers, Death in June, formed his basic ideogical and thematic principles: a dissident, furious opposition to the modern world and its values on the one side and the embrace of the wisdom of tradition and tribalism on the other. The title of his first album with Sol Invictus serves as a declaration, as it invokes the title of Baron Julius Evola's cornerstone book on traditionalism and re-introduction to the archetypal spiritual and societal forms of the Indo-European people.
The third Sol Invictus album defined the genre and caused the explosion of numerous similar bands and a whole new aesthetic for the industrial scene beyond doubt. The cover of the 1989 "Lex Talionis" album would disturb the uninitiated: four figures of men with a large phallus and a club in their right hands placed anti-diametrically so that limbs and clubs form a swastika. The meaning can be easily derived, since the phallus and the club symbolize the eternal archetypal forms of power and their conjunction forms the symbol of the Sun, the symbol in common among Indo-European people worldwide who retain the ancient pagan tradition of Sun worship, from the Roman Empire (Sol Invictus) to the Norsemen and the Hindu Indo-Aryans. The symbolism is a rough reminder of the ancient ways and principles of our tribe, however foreign and repulsive to the modernized, decadent people of humanitarian society (a society morally enslaved by a foreign, desert religion and a political system that devours its best elements, dissolving the most fundamental instict, that of self-preservation).
The music of Sol Invictus attempts to materialise in sound all these aspects, the grief and pain for the loss of the pagan spirit, the hate for the massacres that followed the Christian domination of Europe, the longing for the old times. Wakeford's former involvement with industrial is still obvious, especially in the begining of the album, while the basis of Sol Invictus is the acoustic guitar and voice, fortunately accompanied through the album by other musicians who offer a variety of instruments such as cello and piano to build instrumentation on which ideas can unfold. Sol Invictus choose simple foms of songs to allow lyrical messages to be expressed clearly, not to make an impression of technical virtuosity. However, integrity and passion characterise this band. Combining the warm, introvertive quality of the acoustic instruments and the agressive, distorted sounds and samples, the band succeds into creating unusual intensity.
The album starts with a dark, minimalist piece on a piano that soon gives its place to the title track. A ghastly noise loop with a vibrato effect continually increasing in volume sets its, soon to be followed by melodic bass, piano and a low pitched war drum. "The world is full of Gods and Beasts, some to serve and some to feast," "And even forests once lush and green, have the stench of murder and children's screams," Wakeford comments on the eternal power struggle in nature, the conquering of the European lands by Christians, and finally fortells the bleak future of them. "But bird of prey in your eyes is where our future lies" - the tragic destiny of fighting each other throughout all history at the delight of their enemies ("No more wars amongst brothers...," he says later) in the darkest song of the album. "Black Easter" in contrast is an Dionysian, almost orgiastic call to the pagan spirit; the noises, the melodic guitars, the cellos, the samples, all reach a ritualistic frenzy in which Ian Read (of Fire and Ice) triumphantly cries the Nietzchean aphorism; "God is Dead!"
The other songs of the album have a more rationalistic, calm approach in which Sol Invictus release their more melodic, melancholic material. From ballads to slow pieces with an ambient flow like "Tooth and Claw," "Abbatoirs of Love" to aggresive, epic songs like "Hero's Day," this album justifies its impact on the neo-folk scene of the 1990s.
"Lex Talionis" is more than music alone; it is a statement of an intent toward ideological awakening. Sol Invictus revive the heroic ethos of the European spirit, wake up long forgotten memories of pagan imagery and religion, mourn the decline of its values and finally foresee the rising of the phoenix from the ashes. Those than saw in it just a collection of romantic, "gothic" tunes made to fill out the repertoire of "dark" nightclubs must have been badly dissapointed. - Lycaon
Kraftwerk - Paris 1981 (Undead Silence Records, 2003)
This recording from the beginnings of their elusive middle period, in which they first mimicked bisexual British electropop and then became dysfunctional over the issue of technology in their music, reveals Kraftwerk caught in internal conflict and electing for a course of quality tinged with popular appeal; however, this appeal is degenerative to the core of the music, and thus for those who depend on such things it does not have enough novelty, and for those who seek content independent of aesthetic, it is too humbled. It shows us muses without Viagra attempting to reconcile their success with their ambitions, and in the confusion, holding ground and waiting out the changes in the world of music that appeared around them; once one becomes famous, it is impossible to see the world as one did as an anonymous struggling, because suddenly one is titled and everyone either filters what they tell you or only markets themselves. You cannot walk the same streets, have the same discoveries, or even browse without calling attention to yourself, thus you are cut off from the raw feed of data that tells you what occurs in the world of music, and dependent upon contacts and (ew) record labels for information.
This recording is bouncy and vocals have become contorted to give added emphasis and stylized drama to the lyrical presentation, like a Hollywood musical. One can sense a pandering to the crowd, but also a mastery of it, and a sense of a strong desire to make a normal version of what the British bands had for the most part both successfully promoted to wide audiences and retained its essential character. Kraftwerk have changed their character here: showmanship is not their forte; that is the logical and robotic math-pop that is both mechanistic and brilliantly soulful in its composition and the insights it has on the core of our human qualities in the situations of which it writes, brilliantly, without propaganda or moralizing or really ego. The result is a distortion of music that is so well-staged it is horrible to say an error of aesthetic judgment brings it down, as this band hams it up just a little bit too much.
Instrumentalism is near-flawless as usual and selection of songs is good, moving through the classics to newer material, but its over-emphasized energy and stylized percussion and production gives it the feel of an American stadium concert. Maybe they should have sent the robots instead. Regardless, the songs are brilliant and in the strain of a band pushing for clarity in vision, one can sense history. - vijay prozak
Food
NORSE SPICED CIDER
This is a variation on a traditional beverage to keep drinkers warm during the small ice age that is a Nordic winter. For a garnish, add fresh or dried mint to each mug.
1 gallon apple juice 2 cups white vinegar 3 cups honey
2 tbsp spearmint 2 tbsp ground cloves 1 tsp ground ginger 1 tbsp ground cinnamon 1 lemon, cubed included rind
Lightly boil apple juice while adding honey until all is dissolved. Cool for five minutes, then add vinegar and spices. Simmer for ten minutes and serve hot.
For the alcoholic version of this drink, use real cider instead of apple juice. - Hieronymous Botch
SLAYER CURRY
An Italicized version of an Indian red curry, this recipe was designed for those hungry moments after a Slayer concert; not surprisingly, in spice and heartiness it also resembles the pounding speed/death metal of early Slayer (coincidentally, "Hell Awaits" provides a perfect background timer for the preparation process). It's easy to prepare once you've done it before, and can serve as the perfect conduit for any number of vegetables or meats.
INGREDIENTS
Sauce: 1 stick butter 1 head garlic 1 large white onion 1 tsp red pepper flakes 1 large green apple 1/4 cup white vinegar 1/2 cup whole milk, yogurt, sour cream or cream 2 tbsp brown sugar
Payload:
This is whatever you want to curry, and it is a flexible category. Our sample payload here is designed to give you a quick and easy recipe that feeds people on a minimal budget.
2 lbs frozen peas and carrots 16 oz chickpeas, canned 2 large tomatoes, chopped
Spices:
Prepare a mixture of 2-4 tbsp according to these proportions. It is easiest to use powdered spices, which you can acquire at your local import store or Whole Foods grocery by weight at minimal cost.
5% cloves 2% nutmeg 2% cardamom 12% fenugreek 7% turmeric 7% chili powder 15% paprika 15% black pepper 5% cayenne pepper 20% corriander 10% cumin
Stages:
- I. Oils
- II. Spices
- III. Cook/Rice
- IV. Sauce
You will first prepare the oils, then add ingredients and mix in spice mixture. While that is cooking, you will prepare rice and finalize the sauce, then serve. Total time should be under 1/2 hour.
I. Oils
Heat 1 stick butter in small saucepan at medium simmer; it will begin bubbling, and a layer of residue will form at the top and bottom of the pan (it is best to keep the pan still, and not stir). Turn off heat, and when butter has partially cooled, scrape the residue off the top and pour the oil into your large saucepan; discard the milky residue at the bottom of the oil.
In large saucepan, heat oil to simmer and add chopped garlic and onion, sprinkling red pepper over it. Cover pan and let simmer for five minutes. This will create the essential flavor base of the recipe.
II. Spices
Mix spices according to the formula outlined above. Depending on your tastes, you can balance the amount of pepper with corriander and cumin, with more of the latter giving the recipe a sweeter and broader taste in contrast to the sharpness of pepper and turmeric.
III. Cook/Rice
Add vegetables and chickpeas, sifting the prepared spice mixture over them, and then add vinegar. If necessary, add water, but keep to a minimum to avoid a watery sauce. You will cook this mixture for roughly fifteen minutes, uncovered, depending on what's in your payload and how frozen it is.
It makes sense at this point to start your water boiling in a separate saucepan for rice; when water is at a boil, uncover saucepan, add rice, and turn heat to medium low, then cover. If you have mixed 3:2 water to rice ratio, it will cook off in ten minutes and leave you with dry and slightly chewy rice.
IV. Sauce
Reduce heat to low medium; add brown sugar and cubed, cored green apple. When mixture looks cooked to satisfaction, stir in milk/yogurt/cream and remove from heat; serve. This recipe will feed 2-4 hungry Slayer fans, and probably six of anyone else. Dedicated to Mom, for years of cooking instruction! - vijay prozak
Books
The Sorrows of Young Werther, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. 144 pages, Penguin Books, New York (1989).
Picked up on a whim whilst perusing dusty shelves of dog-eared, forgotten and oft-maligned second-hand books, I came to Werther totally oblivious to its historical impact in the genre of Romantic literature. I figured it might give me a small doorway into a better understanding of Goethe's writing style and thought before tackling his deeper works. I ended up flying through this book in a few whirlwind hours - it was utterly captivating.
The resonance that echoed in the hearts of those who read this book upon its initial publication in the late eighteenth century was widespread and overwhelming; a rash of suicides (which were never truly linked to the subject matter of the book) followed in its wake as it crossed national and cultural boundaries. The book is equal parts a cathartically autobiographical recounting of certain events in the author's life, and the incorporation of the tale of an individual and the events which prompted him to commit suicide, a story that had become widely known at the time: it follows the (modern-day) cliched story of a young man (Werther) who, in his written correspondence with a close friend, relates his sudden evocative infatuation and developing love for a woman (Lotte), one who is unfortunately promised to another man. A friendship between them arises nonetheless, and due to the hopelessness of Werther ever realizing his desired outcome of their deepening companionship, he eventually flees the town; unable to sufficiently distract his heart's yearning for long, he returns, albeit to a dual joy and despair - ecstasy at her returned presence in his life, coupled with his renewed dejection at his powerlessness to change the fate which kept her outside of his embrace. Suicide becomes his only hope of release from the self-destructive cycle.
This scenario has been played out innumerable times, both in literature and real-life; the differences which allow Goethe's tale to stand out from his predecessors and imitators are significant. Much depth of philosophical interest can be found within Werther's narrative of the lengthy arguments carried on between himself and the other characters concerning the epistemological, religious and metaphysical issues of the day; the other difference lies in the format of the writing itself - it utilizes the character of a fictional "editor" who has posthumously compiled the letters sent by Werther to his friend into what constitutes the main body of text for the book, with some follow-up commentary describing what happened to Werther once the letters cease their recitation of his life events. Ostensibly, this would create the impression of nothing more than a lengthy newspaper article, but the way in which Goethe manipulates the text brushes such irrelevant categorizations aside, and draws you into the sentimentalized reality that gnaws at Werther's soul.
It is a beautifully written work (the author was only twenty four years old at the time of writing), one which set a large precedent, not only for the literary genre it spawned, but also for the way in which the form of the novel was approached by future authors. An enchanting read, and an insightful glimpse into Romantic literature and thought, I recommend this novel highly for a view into how something as simple as the form of a novel can be treated in the hands of a master. - blaphbee
The Butcher Boy, Patrick McCabe. 240 pages, Bantam Doubleday Dell, New York (1992).
Recommended to me by a friend with no prior introduction to the plot given, The Butcher Boy left me with a mixed bag of reactions. I took the plunge and started into the story: Francis Brady, only son of his remote, alcoholic father and neurotically unhinged mother, dealing with the trials he faced while growing up in a rural town in Ireland around the time of the Cuban missile crisis, as narrated by himself much later in the future. It centers around perception, specifically how a young boy with no father figure to learn from copes with the pretense of his peers, the dynamics of friendship, and growing up in a social world, a world Brady largely ignores as unnecessary.
Many people seem to make a great fuss over the apparent onset of psychosis in the main character, but I never noticed it until someone pointed it out, that the thoughts and patterns that emerged from Brady's mind were typically taken as encompassing the conventional definition of "crazy." To me, they seemed more like the thoughts and reflections of someone who lived in a world of memories and fantasy - memories which meant more than worthless social play-acting, fantasies which fired the intellect and let the imagination soar - who used these methods to cope with a town which had branded him as an outsider, but one whom they pitied, impotently, all the same.
The plotline of the story itself is rather simple, and executed in a very adept, if easily predictable fashion. Brady's behaviour is related in a detached manner by the narrator; no moral judgments or over-emotional sentimentalizing colour the events where one would expect them to be present; the only emotion that occurs is when Brady experiences something "beautiful." The text is written strangely - a great deal of slang is incorporated into sentences which do not distinguish between characters speaking, acting or thinking. It took a couple of pages to catch up, but once one falls into its rhythm the book becomes quite easy to read, and it fits the identity which is conjured of Brady relating these stories to the reader through a haze of cigarette smoke. The ending was seen coming for miles.
This book gave an illuminating look into the mind of a young boy who behaved and acted the way he did because certain things mattered more to him than what everyone else valued in life; there could be no moralization of his actions, as they fit into his system of valuation in an integral manner. Trivial things like death didn't mean much to him, but the friendship he so desired from his friend Joe meant the world - he was prepared to give anything to lead the simple life they shared when they were younger. Brady's mental space is atypical for certain, but this is in no way an anomaly of his possession alone; look no further than the values which rule the town for insight on how Brady ended up where he did. When that is understood, Brady's thoughts become quite understandable, and the story becomes something more than a punctuationally-challenged vehicle for provoking moralizing shock in a reader. - blaphbee
Underworld, Don DeLillo. 827 pages, Simon & Schuster, New York (1997).
It's fortunate that DeLillo gives a nod or two to Melville, deep in this labyrinthine text, with a white whale reference, because really, I blame this whole genre on Melville: the religious unification of all disciplines of information into a belief system tied around a symbol, perhaps even a white whale meaning the purity of personal dominion over reality. After that came James Joyce, who really nailed the technique, and following the brief interlude of actual writers in the heroic sense of the word "artist," we had Nabokov and Pynchon. The latter produced his epic "Gravity's Rainbow," which tied together every type of learning known to man in a spiritual metaphor which got hazier as the pages went on and the author inhaled more of that Northern California hybrid.
DeLillo's book is very much in the tradition of "Gravity's Rainbow," even down to a lap-compacting page count, winding together personal stories in the full-blown neurosis that only a fin de ciecle civilization can provide, and tying them to large, emotional events such as baseball and nuclear warfare. As such, the book isn't "about" anything; it's about everything, in the theme that while politics occupy the powers that be, there is an entire underworld of life in opposition to these empires of death, as told through the lives connected to two people who had brief, meaningless, vindictive sex back in the 1960s. Are you excited yet? Neither am I.
Although it's a well-written book, in parts, and as a whole, it conveys a good deal of learning on many topics, mostly it's fluff designed to hide the author's opinions "artfully" between a raft of metaphors related to its main symbol. Naturally, it being a product of our modern time, it can have no other ground of theme than the elites versus the masses, and per the postmodern dictum, it looks behind the text of all events for subtext and thus finds conspiracy an easy friend. It's saturated in racial inequity, drugs, authority figures confusing penises with power, unfaithful partnerings and the lives of Italians, Jews and Irish in the New York ghettoes. So far, very straightforward, which is why one wonders how it took 827 pages to convey what slides very neatly forth from 300.
Where DeLillo triumphs is in the deep-reading sense of the postmodern genre; he gets into every detail, and has text to match, bringing out a richness in vocabulary that is normally unseen, and like an acidhead bending his metaphors to the solos on forgotten Led Zeppelin albums. That the contortions of the text seem at all logical is a tribute to his artistry, and he includes every large-headline event related to his thesis with a relish that sometimes drowns the content in its own lack of relevance. As with any good postmodern text, metaphor is free, freer than free jazz, and no topic or diction or style can constrain the elements to which he reaches. Back in 1997, the Internet was new, so there's some awkward mention of that at the end. There's some fine text here, and that's why one reads it, although I heartily recommend skimming much of the pointless dialogue and tangential stories which reveal nothing an experienced reader couldn't already guess.
If you want to plot this book's course emotionally, turn to "Ulysses" and "Gravity's Rainbow," both of which feature the downtrodden everyman fragmenting his ego and "transcending" his will to power, eventually becoming submissively at peace with a world which is still as diseased as his own neurotic mind - and, come to think of it, his author's neurotic prose. As such, the philosophical content of this novel is really friggin' forgettable, and we're left thinking DeLillo would have been better off hammering some of his themes from "White Noise." Like the white whale, every aspiration in this book that isn't submissive brings its characters to somnolent decay, and so there's really no hope in it, nor any iteration of themes outside counterculture versions of the dominant idea of this past millennium. Still, if you don't mind skimming five pages for every one you read, there's some phenomenal prose in here. - vijay prozak
Mason & Dixon, Thomas Pynchon. 773 pages, Henry Holt & Company, New York (1997).
Pynchon is truly a great writer, when he's on, because he cuts past the illusion of a modern time to point out that most people are, underneath the web of justifications and power structures that justify and thus "fulfill" a life in this era, miserable and searching for something which is not recognized in public. Addressing hidden mortality: good. Also good is his extensive use of occult and Eastern and transcendentalist knowledge to suggest where an alternative might lie, as a way of saying "look within, not without." Also good, as are his inventive sentences and specialized research manifesting itself in an uncommon richness of vocabulary.
Good, good. Where he falters is by writing to an audience that has traditionally supported him, and in doing so, restraining himself from fully indicting the emptiness because he has already selected a certain perspective within it and embraced its psychology. Thus, much as Joyce met a fate of futility and sublimated mental instability, Pynchon is locked in a cage of his own creation, pleasing the crowd of cosmopolitan, hip, leftist readers but failing to simply spit out what he means as if he did, he'd come into conflict with his audience. The other grim side effect: endless pages of clever and cute puns and conventions and "in depth" explorations of small metaphors linked in suite to his overall motif, proving him witty and cultured and in possession of the right opinions to socialize in upper Manhattan's rough-looking village crowd, but neutralizing any point he was going to make with the burden of a giant tome that, while amusing page to page, gets lost in its own cleverness and thus dissipates its point.
Mason & Dixon, being among the later works of this author, is a step up from the cartoon/sitcom-like Vineland, but does not reach the heights of Gravity's Rainbow, which was helped mainly by (a) its topic matter, the prediction of death and our attempts to evade it through grand political schemes disguising business as usual, and (b) the time in which it was written, when there was a clear "evil" that wasn't a country (say, the Soviet Union) or a belief system, but the condition by which modern politics held us all hostage to death-fear and uncertainty. It also falls short of his least competent but most enduringly popular work, "The Crying of Lot 49," which directly attacked the loss of mystery and meaning in modern life, and therefore speaks most directly to his readers.
Written in the metaphorical experience of the famous journey across America undertaken by British explorers Charles Mason and Jeremiah Dixon, the book contrasts their individual spiritual outlooks with the task before them, which is to survey the land so that it can be sold and conquered and politicized by a bureaucratic system that even antagonizes them as they attempt to do this. It's an insightful metaphorical setup, and as Pynchon writes in the style of his once-instructor Vladimir Nabokov in constructing an unreal book around a hidden central symbol, it affords him room to tie in the elements of his thesis, namely the certainty of death and the ambiguity of life, the human spirit as affected by pacifism and anger in contrast, and other delvings into the varied paths of a philosophical labyrinth. However, to see this, the reader must assume a populist-utilitarian viewpoint, which places this book beyond the tolerance of most of those who would understand it fully.
It effectively makes his point, however, that in fear of an Absolute death humankind has gridded and divided up the earth into cause and effect, subject and object, owned and owner, and thus is spreading destruction wherever it goes without facing its own mortality. In this, Pynchon is savant, because such a thing needs to be said, and at that level of abstraction, before the cancer of humanity entirely consumes its environment and its own culture and people, leaving nothing but wasteland, as elegeically portrayed in certain parts of this novel. The characters are cariacatures; while they have complexity, they lack depth, in part because they are like all things in this novel almost pure allegory, and pure symbol. The rest is Pynchon the man exerting his strong personality upon us, and we get glimpses of an everyman character who has the wit of an archacademic but none of the spirit to go further.
With that expression, the novel is weakened, and seems more like propaganda couched in the elaborate symbols and social references, like marijuana smoking or hilarious sexuality or the repugnance of slavery, and thus preaches to the converted and fails to articulate the far side of the issue he raises, namely how to get over this abyss without giving in, making token nods to eastern philosophy and continuing our paths as good hipster liberals just trying to earn a living, get laid and have a good Saturday night. Although the journey he makes through the characters of Mason and Dixon is a profound one, the sidetracking of playing his audience makes it a long and ultimately tedious one; if you get through this book, there is little reward that cannot be had from thinking on the concepts raised in chapters one and two. In that spirit, a great author passes from relevance to a neat pigeonhole, dividing himself from the rest of philosophy much as his characters slice up America. - vijay prozak
