My very small knowledge of developmental psychology seems to taper off after one year old, unfortunately. I need to remedy this situation in a hurry. As predicted though, you have just about all of your cerebral cortex online, in one capacity or another, right now, and there is always a little person there...thoughts, opinions, expectations...strategies. Dear viewer, if you think it was crazy of us to let a one year old eat this much refined sugar, you are absolutely right...she spent much of her birthday wired like a coke fiend in Miami, waiting for the 1980's to end. Now, she is trying to walk, in short intervals, and with careful planning, so as not to fall and look foolish. She demands to be bounced around to music, as always, but nowadays it is almost always her idea. The little Nile-esque cookie monster growl has come back, for summoning metal to the cd player, or to indicate any situation where the baby is being watonly brutal, such as hurling stuffed toys onto the floor. She seems much more concerned with having us name every object she can point to than she does with saying the words herself, as if to satify her curisity that previous humans have named everything first. Sorry..we have, or we can invent them fast. "That block is a donut shape...a torus....it is red...." "Donut, umm, that one is octagonal, there are no donuts that shape. I know, you are finding all the toruses....and stacking them, by round vs. not round..." Note to self, "Is there such a thing as an octagonal torus?"
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
You made it to one, Ruby. Nice Job.
My very small knowledge of developmental psychology seems to taper off after one year old, unfortunately. I need to remedy this situation in a hurry. As predicted though, you have just about all of your cerebral cortex online, in one capacity or another, right now, and there is always a little person there...thoughts, opinions, expectations...strategies. Dear viewer, if you think it was crazy of us to let a one year old eat this much refined sugar, you are absolutely right...she spent much of her birthday wired like a coke fiend in Miami, waiting for the 1980's to end. Now, she is trying to walk, in short intervals, and with careful planning, so as not to fall and look foolish. She demands to be bounced around to music, as always, but nowadays it is almost always her idea. The little Nile-esque cookie monster growl has come back, for summoning metal to the cd player, or to indicate any situation where the baby is being watonly brutal, such as hurling stuffed toys onto the floor. She seems much more concerned with having us name every object she can point to than she does with saying the words herself, as if to satify her curisity that previous humans have named everything first. Sorry..we have, or we can invent them fast. "That block is a donut shape...a torus....it is red...." "Donut, umm, that one is octagonal, there are no donuts that shape. I know, you are finding all the toruses....and stacking them, by round vs. not round..." Note to self, "Is there such a thing as an octagonal torus?"
Thursday, December 10, 2009
A letter from Federal Prison from Psycho Butcher, our Restaurant Critic
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Die, Corky, Die
I am not saying I put my goblin friends up to causing that workplace accident in Whole Foods that nearly took your life, but if I did, it would have been justified. All those cases of wine falling on a helpless little gnome, as he reclines on a wheel of cheese, smoking a pipe, in the back room. Poor, cute little gnome.
Goblins do things like that Corky, they hate gnomes. If I put them up to it, it would have been justified by all the times you came by my house, sprinkling gnome dust everywhere to give my living room that "enchanted" feeling, and starting shit between me and my wife. Everyone hates it when a little shit-disturber comes around his house and starts talking crap to his wife about how the presence of hobgoblins living in the basement might be "dangerous" to the baby, or how the man of the house might be "gnomist" for having a -no pointy hats- rule. Truth of the matter is that I hate pointy red hats, and I hate gnome antics.
I noticed, for instance, that you secretly inspected, and organized all the closets. I messed them up again. I noticed that you and your buddies made liberal use of the garden all summer, standin perfectly still, like ornaments. Invisible to everybody but me.
If Blodgett and Hookie the goblins abducted you after the workplace fall and drug you off to a secret goblin "maze of torment", maybe they were trying to help you somehow. Too bad you had to chew your own leg off to escape and all. The peg leg looks nice.
I have two hobgoblins guarding the house now. Stay the hell away.
Stupid gnome.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Dear Ruby,
Yes, Ruby, of course I am an extremely proud father that you now have a low, "cookie monster" growl to voice fits of metal pleasure, such as trying to kick your rubber duckie out of the bathtub, and bouncing around in my arms to Iron Maiden, SkeletonWitch, and Arsis, complete with tiny fist in the air. Just as pleased, I am, that you seem to have discovered the secret magic to books, and laugh at a drawing of a baby gorilla crawling into bed with the zookeeper and his wife. You have never seen a gorilla, yet this is somehow funny to you already, at just short of a year old. Your endless experiments with the Fisher Price ball popper, your conviction that merely hiding your face with a cake pan constitutes the ultimate in crypsis and hilarity, and a thousand other things convince me that you, the real you, are finally here. Welcome to Earth Ruby, and happy birthday. This time, last year, we were taking bets that you would arrive amid whatever Thanksgiving meal we saw fit to make, deciding what to pack for the hospital visit, as if we did not live a block away, and airing our confessions that, indeed, it would be fun to dress a little baby and that is part of the excitement, however indulgent. You look great today. Love. Dad.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Are We Evolving?
In the future, will the human race evolve giant, watermelon-sized brains, the huge crania barely supported by pasty-white and frail bodies? Or, like the tyrant overlords in Madeline L'Engel's A Wrinkle in Time, might we progress to the status of brains floating in nutrient solution? Alternatively, might we evolve a caste system, with future humans partitioned like termites into worker, soldier, and thinking classes? Or perhaps we will regress both physically and mentally, as Aldous Huxley's Ape and Essence, degenerating into a senseless species of cripples, gibbering like idiots.
Perhaps our organic evolution is irrelevant at this late date, since the eventual replacement of organic Homo sapiens by intelligent thinking machines made in our image, is just around the corner. As more and more people opt to upload their thoughts and memories into cybernetic immortality, will our species leave this planet behind for an existence in some cybernetic realm?
The literature of science fiction is rich with fantastic speculation about our evolutionary destiny. In Nat Schacher's "Past Present and Future", a hundred thousand years of evolution create a future human race composed of worker, technician, and oligarch castes, all teeming like ants within a subterranean hive. H. G. Wells' extrapolations of human evolution are legendary, with a nocturnal, carnivorous human species preying upon their dim witted and gentle sister species. This vision of future humanity in The Time Machine was presaged in Wells' When the Sleeper Wakes, where he shows the huge hive cities and the class distinctions that might ultimately lead our social classes to follow separate evolutionary paths. In A. E. Von Vogt's Slan, the superior species resulted from some sort of major mutation, with multiple types of mutants living as persecuted minorities. Olaf Stapledon's visionary The First and the Last Men postulates not just a single evolutionary descendent of Homo sapiens, but a series of 16 future humans. These include seal men, winged men, a race of malevolent intelligent monkeys, and the benevolent and doomed last men of
And yet, as humans, we seem to have insulated ourselves from nature "red in tooth and claw". From the viewpoint of an easy chair, it is not clear that some traits confer a reproductive advantage and others do not. Are we evolving?
The answer is yes. All species evolve, though the rate of evolutionary change can vary tremendously among species, and for any given species, can vary from one span of time to the next. In the last fifty years, we have seen astonishingly rapid evolution of pesticide resistance in insects and antibiotic resistance in pathogens. Artificial selection via domestication has brought monstrous new creatures into existence from sensible and innocuous wild ancestors. Maize, for instance, evolved from a weedy Mexican upland grass resembling the weed teosite, into the tall, large-seeded and distinctive plant that occupies so much of the world today. Tomatoes, bananas, and other plants, have underwent similar transformations. Some species seem not to evolve at all for vast spans of time. The horseshoe crab, Limulus sp., is very difficult to distinguish from reconstructions of fossil ancestors that crawled the seas 200 million years ago, and the giant sequoia tree Sequoiadendron giganteum could be transplanted to a Cretaceous period forest and not seem out of place. These species have evolved, nonetheless, in thousands of subtle aspects associated with tracking the ecological niche that allows them to survive as they do. For them, the game is stabilizing selection, rather than directional selection…natural selection weeds out the individuals that depart too much from the configuration that has worked so well for these millions of years.
What about humans? Will we continue the rapid evolutionary change of the last 5 million years? Or sink into a pattern of evolutionary stasis like horseshoe crabs?
Our species yields tantalizing clues for speculation. It is a rule that large, widely-distributed species living in large populations mixed by the movement of individuals, frequently remain unchanged for vast amounts of time. It is the small, fractured populations that show rapid evolution, generally, and have the most opportunities to give rise to new species as well. Interestingly, however, a large number of widely-distributed species have exhibited dramatic evolutionary change recently, both in terms of their behavior and their appearance-most of them being species that interact regularly with humans; our domesticated weeds, our pests, and our pets. It has even been postulated, as John Livingston suggested in his book Rogue Primate, that our species has domesticated itself.
Possibly, one of the biggest stories in our recent evolutionary history is allele flow, that erasure of thousands of ethnic and regional differences in gene pools as individuals from one part of the world invade, migrate, settle, conquer, and interbreed. So strong has it been that there are few Native Americans that can trace pure ancestry back to the men and women who crossed Beringia. In other places, Europe and
It is essential to dismiss the misconception that evolution is teleological or goal directed. Evolution is usually gradual change brought about in a species by a statistical bias toward certain individuals more likely to survive and make a greater number of copies of themselves, as well as other random factors that create genetic variation and cause random change over time. It is punctuated by the process of speciation, another random process, that splits evolutionary lineages by creating reproductive isolation between populations. None of these processes has a conscience, a memory, or a plan. Thus, evolution does not proceed from start to finish, but rather, continuously shapes a species by a variety of factors. It is the rule, rather than the exception, for a species to evolve in one direction for a while, and then evolve in retrograde for a while, as conditions favor the types of individuals that were more common to begin with. At any given time, the effects of each evolutionary mechanism depend greatly upon the physical environment.
With a change in the environment, evolution can reverse itself or go in directions completely different from earlier trends. Thus, our evolutionary past does not predict our future. Between 1.5 million years ago, and 25,000 years ago, our lineage underwent a rapid increase in brain size. This trend continued from Homo erectus into early Homo sapiens, yet this trend need not continue. In fact, it has stopped. The best fossil evidence we have suggests that, for the last 30,000 years, our brains have gotten slightly smaller. Some of this, of course, is associated with a general decline in body size associated with the shift to farming, and away from hunting mammoths.
IQ, whatever crude measure of intellect it is, is not positively correlated with fitness, by the way, nor is it negatively correlated. Evidence suggests that the highest reproductive prowess is centered in the middle of the IQ curve. There is some positive assortative mating for IQ though, which increases the spread a bit, producing a few more IQ geniuses (as opposed to the real kind, who can compose symphonies or interpret the red shifts of quasars), than we would see otherwise. This is not to say that our brains are not evolving rapidly. Nine percent of the genes we share with chimps are still evolving quickly, some of them associated with brain development. Others are involved in perception, sperm production, and immunity.
Likely, one of the biggest agents of natural selection operating today is infectious disease. The parasites we take for granted, things like colds, the flu, chicken pox, are relative newcomers, just jumped in from the species we have domesticated. The arrival of each was probably heralded by a huge plague. My guess is that each of the great ancient plagues has its origin in the arrival of one of these, now-mundane parasites. They have evolved decreasing virulence. Whatever organism caused the Plague of Athens burned through its hosts too quickly and died out, but it probably came back, with a more patient set of genes less likely to kill the host. Along the way, it must have imposed some selection on its host as well.
In some ways, our domesticated species have domesticated us. Many of us carry the genes for lactose tolerance, and for forms of alcohol dehydrogenase that allow for a good buzz, both of which we owe to our domesticated creatures, cows and yeast respectively.
Concerning the morphological traits more familiar to us, they seem to follow a pattern similar to that of IQ. Stabilizing selection, the tendency of those in the middle of the curve to be most fit, has long been documented for birth weight. This is probably true of human body size. Very tall and very short individuals have reduced survivorship, as well as the hyper-skinny and the obese. Recent research suggests that, among women at least, those individuals that are just slightly heavier than the average have the highest fitness. Similarly, those individuals that are just slightly shorter than the average have the highest fitness. Favored also, however, are women who are able to start reproducing early, and keep going until later in life. This is all very fluid, a snapshot from one place in New England, and evolutionary trends in
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Dear Dr. Sagan
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
We All Grow Up So Damned Fast
Monday, September 21, 2009
The Great Black Wasp
Friday, September 18, 2009
The End
Thursday, September 17, 2009
autumn
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
where devas dwell
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Concerning Gnomes
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Why We Rock
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Now
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Snowball Earth
Snowball Period |
---|
(millions of years ago) |
A recent estimate of the timing and duration of Proterozoic glacial periods. Note that great uncertainty surrounds the dating of pre-Gaskiers glaciations. The status of the Kaigas is not clear; its dating is very insecure and many workers do not recognise it as a glaciation. From Smith (in press).[66] |
Tips for Urban Living
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
7--11 Diary
I wrote this over ten years ago. I intended to write a much longer memoir, but things happen. This, I think, is worth reposting from the molumbia.com site....
Two-Fisted Consumer Commando,
Sheikh of the Liquored Night,
Zip Gun Target,
My Life as a 7-11 Clerk
I first called the 7-11 jobline the day after a job interview in
I was living in
My job interview was by telephone. 1-800-711-JOBS put me right through to an automated job interview system. I felt a brief flash of futureshock as I entered my social security number, years of education, and desired salary into the machine. I was briefly put on hold as its automated decision making process considered my qualifications. Hire an eccentric, out of work PhD, evolutionary biologist, with no obvious criminal record? By all means, yes. We'll make a man out of him. I was hired.
My first training session was about 20 miles south of where I lived, in a forlorn, White-Trash neighborhood at the Denver City Limits. I remember counting a dozen different 7-11's along the way.
The Southland Corporation liked to train in certain, "model stores" which were in particularly good shape. These places would get their pick of the new employees and, of course, remain model stores. That location was indeed stocked with the cream of the 7-11 crop. Clean-cut young people with nothing in particular to do with their lives, they worked 7--11 more out of ennui then anything else. All of them lived at home, I was to discover. These were next year's air conditioner repairmen and cellular phone representatives, but for now, they kept the cups stocked and the driveway immaculate.
I was entitled to free coffee and soda, I discovered, and immediately indulged in a 7-11 French Roast with hazelnut creamers. I sat under the pay phone and stared at the used car lot across the street. It specialized in vintage classics, and sported a 57 Chevy, and Edsel, a 62 Caddy, and of course, a '72 Charger. What might it be like to work the desk here for long enough to buy one of those cars? How many biweekly 350 dollar checks would it take? 40? My classmates started showing up ten minutes later. We were exactly the weird lot you might expect of a 7-11 training crew. There was a distracted young woman with bleached blond hair, a tough looking moustached man with leathery skin, an alert looking young man who could have been a boy scout, a young mexican woman with a smattering of gang tattoos, a pimply kid who rode up on a motorcycle, and myself, in a yellow bowling shirt and stubble. The eager young man and I set up a few long tables in the storeroom. It was just barely big enough to squeeze 7 places to sit, and even then, a person had the side of their head mashed into a box of cheetos or a case of toilet paper. The eager young man proffered a hand. His name was Damien. He had a firm handshake and was entirely too happy to be in a storeroom of a 7-11 at 9am on a Thursday morning.
Forty-five minutes later, we were shifting uncomfortably in uncomfortable folding metal chairs. Our trainer was the sort of woman who should be performing a child's puppet show for right wing single moms who want their children to love Jesus. I would spend the next three days trying to visualize how she looked topless.
There was a Byzantine amount of paperwork to be dealt with. Within a half hour, I had assumed liability for any conceivable civil suit, denied that I had a drug problem, agreed to let them fire me for any reason, on a moment's notice, and signed a document that seemed to permit them to implant a microchip into my head. To this day, I am probably on a watchlist for potential drug rehab clients. Halfway into the paperwork, the leather-armed man squinted and joked "so when do we piss into a cup?" We were cautiously informed that 7-11 does not drug test. Instead, there is a phone number to call if we need help.
We were not drug tested.
This came as an enormous relief to every person sitting at the tables. The question asked and answered, our shoulders loosened, and some people began to look relaxed. As a long-term and enthusiastic dope fiend, I was as happy as everyone else, though I had been abstaining from the cannabis simply for economic reasons. Too bad,
Five minutes later, at our first break, I was to earn just how far people will go to avoid giving up drugs long enough to pass a drug test. Several people had come to the training session with small bottles of other people's urine, which they discarded gleefully in an overfull dumpster just outside the store. Others had dipped their fingers in bleach before arriving, counting on the remaining residue to foil the chemical assay. The Native American woman was a bleach dipper. She had once eaten Draino to foil a drug test. She seemed to think the technique was effective, but also confessed to spending three days in the hospital later, an event that seemed curiously uncorrelated in her mind. Someone lit a joint, and there outside the training session, we passed it around and confessed to a few of our vices. We all smoked pot. Without potheads, 7-11 would have to close its doors worldwide-end of story. Three of the seven were regular meth smokers, two smoked crack every now and then, "but never with the kids in the car". All of us drank pretty regularly. Damien and I were the only 2 who were not basically functioning alcoholics. I was later to learn that Damien had just gone off about six types of medication, including thorazine.
The rest of the training was three straight days of exquisite, pedantic, uncontrollable boredom. Sitting on those folding metal chairs, pressed up against a long table with a peeling faux-woodgrain finish, time passed more slowly than any other syllable of recorded history. Staring at one idiotic instructional videotape after another, I was reminded of Albert Camus' advice concerning "how not to waste time"
"Stand in long lines at the bank, take the slowest bus across town, wait for water to boil.." anything to slow one's perception of time massing to a bug crawl. Convenience store clerks waste less time than any other people on earth.
The training consisted primarily of telling us not do things that might get the Southland corporation in a lawsuit, and having us sign forms that would put all responsibility on us. We went over armed robbery scenarios, learned how not to sell beer to a minor or a person with slurred speech, and that the convenience store world was one big happy interracial family. This was all fine with us, because at the first sign of trouble, most of us intended to slip out the back door with a case of Milky Way bars and never come back.
I know this because, during cigarette breaks, I was indoctrinated into the seedy underworld of the retail underclass. The fresh-faced blonde woman with two children and a Meth habit had felt compelled to let her old boss feel her up every now and then. I tried to hide my enthusiasm as I imagined myself "supervising her", unzipping her green and black frock and sliding my fingers under her lacy black undergarments, all in the name of checking for shoplifted cigarettes and gum. She left her last job at circle K after her supervisor became possessive, imagining that perhaps the customers occasionally had easy pickings to the merchandise. She just walked out-with a case of 3:2 beer, and drank it in her car on the way home.
Not once during the training did we learn anything of practical value. Never did we step behind a cash register or restock a shelf. 7-11 had paid serious money learn to implement three important policies; never keep more than $30 in the cash drawer, keep the stores enormously well lit, and spend 24 hours on each employee to cover their asses from liability suits.
Next..the time I was almost robbed.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Dear Ruby
Monday, August 31, 2009
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Regarding Metal
Regarding Metal
Metal is a genre of music characterized by extensive use of distorted electric guitars and basses, drums, and vocals which are vamped or stylized by screaming, growling, falsetto, or an over-the top operatic delivery. Metal lyrics invoke dark subject mater, almost universally touching on aspects of power and powerlesness, often invoking moods of violence, agression, and supernatural evil. Musical compositions in metal songs are intended to convey feelings of aggressiveness, rage, transcendent doom, or a desire to indulge in wanton acts of hedonism, womanizing, and drug use. Classical minor scales and blues scales are often recognizable, but it is rare that a metal song is written in a particular key. Rhythms can be textured and elaborate, with multiple changes in tempo within a song. The above definition is far from comprehensive. It is easy to find an excellent metal song that does not fit within the definition at all. Opeth’s “Silhouette” comes to mind, as do Mayhem’s “Silvester Anfang” and Bathory’s “Ring of Gold”.
The genre is loosely split into many subgenres, mostly listener-defined and often very arbitrary in their usage. Lyrics are various, but themes of supernatural evil predominate in some of its subgenres. In others, feelings of isolation, anger, and nihilism are more typical. In still others, fantastic battles, actual historical conflict, or scenarios intended to tell tales of womanizing and debauchery are the norm. Some of its subgenres embrace extreme showmanship, including black and white “corpse paint”, studded and spiked costumes, fire, and fake blood. Other subgenres adopt an almost obsessive minimalism in their stage attire, focusing upon performances rife with rage and angst. I have never known fans to be strictly adherent to one subgenre or another. In a typical night of listening, fans typically play whatever they want to hear, regardless of the label attached to it.
The term “metal” is a contentious one because its listeners, especially die-hard fans, are apt to reject musical techniques, styles, and elements that do not conform to their definition of what “metal” is, effectively policing the genre from adopting a sound that might have mainstream appeal. This tendency has caused a recent movement in the metal scene to refer to all types of metal, and music that sounds like metal but is rejected by hardcore fans, as “heavy music”, to avoid these kinds of arguments.
Labels divide. Labels limit. Labels also serve a purpose, arise spontaneously, and serve as guides to cognition. Terms like “metal”, “grindcore”, and “new wave of British heavy metal” almost universally provoke contention, but they are also a fundamental consequence of the way humans categorize. In visual art, literature, music, and other creative forms of thought, something called a genre tends to form spontaneously, whenever the limit of creative expression are such that artisans are free to craft music to their own liking, and yet, must operate within a set of parameters intentionally and unintentionally defined by the audience and artists alike. Music, in particular, has had something akin to genres since its inception, the existence of multiple different Ancient Greek music scales, each attributed to a particular island or region, suggests that even at the beginning of what we might term Western Civilization, artists and listers have acted in concert to create distinct styles of music. For music, especially, the effectiveness of the art form relies in the mind’s ability to predict musical patterns as they develop, and effective music both satisfies, and denies, these expectations, to create a combination of tension and resolution that most listners consider to be beautiful. Other than its most fundamental unit, the octave, the existence of a music scale is a cultural construct, Though the patterns of tones and semitones we associate with pitch have a neurological basis, the arrangement of tones in an interval, and exact combinations of steps and half steps included in a scale is determined by society. Music is in the mind of the listener as well as the musician. In his book “This is Your Brain on Music”, Dan Levitin devotes an entire chapter to musing on what is known, and unknown, regarding how the brain forms genre specific categories. He suggests that human minds have an inherent tendency to recognize a genre by gestalt, from only a few examples, and that music listeners are surprisingly adept at recognizing examples of an art form that, while they fall within a genre, are not normative.
As human societies have grown more complex, and the density of listeners has grown exponentially to an unprecedented scale, each group of listeners having the potential for worldwide, virtually instantaneous access to the newest music, there has been a proliferation of genres in music, and a fracturing of these genres into subgenres.
Metal eludes a strict definition because genres, in any field of artistic expression, lack strict definition. Genres form spontaneously because the human mind constantly seeks to categorize. A genre is an aggregate of similar objects or things that the humans in a culture find to be fundamentally similar. For every genre, listeners, readers, or viewers, can point to examples that seem to be paradigmatic, central to, and typical of the genre, and other examples that seem to stray from the center or cross over into other genres. It is this crossover that often produces the best music, art, and literature, thought it can only exist once genre boundaries are established. In a culture of total innovation, each artist working from his or her own first principles, such genre crossovers, and the innovation they bring, is impossible. The genre must exist in order to transcend it. That said, each genre has certain cultural innovations, and attributes, which are either more common among the art or music that the genre encompasses, or employed in a way that is idiosyncratic or distinctive when they do appear. New movements in any art form do not usually receive a name until much of the innovation that produced that art form has already occurred. Once recognized, listeners often close ranks on new innovation, perhaps in a subconscious effort to restrict the evolution of an art form they have grown to appreciate. The listener feeds back to the musician. The reader influences the writer.
Possibly, no form of popular music is more prone to factions, more able to split into subgenres, and more defensive of its own cohesiveness as a recognizable art form, than metal. These properties result not from radical innovation, or the individualism that metalheads are sometimes known for, but from cultural conservatism. Metalheads evaluate each new technique and trend, in conversations online, between cigarettes at band practice, and in line at shows, searching for consensus. Even for rock bands, which are amazingly consistent compared to other forms of music in their arrangement of members and instruments, metal bands are almost hyperconsistent in their lineups. Only certain arrangements are permissible. The most acceptable arrangement, currently, includes a drummer, a bassist, one or two guitarists, and possibly a vocalist, though it is more in keeping with some genres of metal that one of the guitarists, or the bassist, also sing. There is no a priori reason for these members. Other arrangements are certainly possible. A metal band is limited, thus, to three to five members, except enormously successful acts which accumulate members as their ambitions grow. Even in these acts, it is much more acceptable and common for a band, such as Sweeden’s In Flames, to sprout an extra guitarist, than to accumulate an extra drummer.
A “Front Man”, a dedicated vocalists that does not play an instrument, is permissible, but more welcome in some sugenres, than in others.
vocal duties are typically split among the members of the band. In the 1980’s, it was a major point of division among metalheads whether an electronic synthesizer was an appropriate instrument for a metal band. It was not sufficient that some fans enjoyed them, and others did not, a consensus was necessary. Now, synthesiers are employed freely, and expected, in some sugenres of music, but necessarily absent from others. Consensus, but the splitting of subgenres. Currently, in Chicago, metalheads are challenging the genre again by exploring the possibility of the drum machine as a metal innovation.
All genres of music have such parameters. Metal is only unusual, if it is unusual at all, in being slightly more restrictive than other forms of popular music, though much less restrictive than older, more traditional forms of music, such as Gamelan music or even classical chamber music. These restrictions are products of cultural evolution. They are analogous to the thought structures that must have existed in the minds of Ancient Greek and NeoTropical potters as they crafted pottery and emblazoned it with culture-specific patterns. Indeed, it is possible to trace the extent of trade in ancient North America, and elsewhere, by the movement of pot shards. These thought structures serve to limit permissible types of innovation in the musical genre. They restrict inventiveness, but in doing so they funnel creativity in consistent directions. The emphasis on guitar, bass, vocals, and drums, has created innovation in interplay of these instruments that would not exist if metal bands commonly incorporated saxophones, xylophones, or harps. It has created special scenarios, such as the introductory passages to black metal songs, where such innovations are strongly called for. Most importantly, it has created an audience of listeners who have trained themselves to distinguish certain sonic patterns of timbre, rhythm, melody and harmony, that seem like mere noise to uninitiated listeners, but are pleasing to the metalhead.
Analogous situations are present in other genres of music as well. Experience listening to jazz, especially avante garde jazz, generally makes a better listener.
Other than a moderate degree of cultural conservatism, metal is somewhat distinctive in that it seeks to create a sound that the uninitiated often find unpleasant. With the possible exceptions of experimental music, some forms of jazz, and possibly some forms of classical music, no other form of music such a polarizing effect on the listener. Certainly, it seems that metal bands enjoy creating sounds that the uninitiated find to be ugly, dissonant, and unpleasant. Though avante garde jazz has the same effect on listeners, generally, metalheads seem to take pride in this. Uninitiated listeners often loathe metal, and would prefer to listen to silence. Most metal artists never expect to be played on the radio. Metal is rarely played at parties, almost never at weddings, and though appropriate, never at funerals. Something that the uninitiated listener, the nonmetalhead, often fails to appreciate is the extent to which the initiated listener, the metalhead, actually enjoys the elements in music that nonmetalheads find discordant, ugly, and brutal.
The metal aesthetic is easy to recognize. Battle axes are metal. Mercedes convertibles are not. Fire is metal. Champagne is not metal. A nude woman carrying a sword in one hand and a severed head in another is metal, the same woman in a bikini, leaned over a motorcycle, is not....not currently, at least. In the 1980’s, having gained mainstream acceptance and mainstream radio play, images of postadolescent men having a good time were an accepted part of the aesthetic. It has evolved and consolidated since then, however, as mainstream success has eluded most acts, and influences from science fiction, crime, religion, and horror have combined and recombined endlessly. To me, one of the most metal images imaginable, and one of its most influential, is the image of the wraithlike “Eddie”, wielding an axe, some faceless victim vainly clutching the creature’s shirt as he or she slumps to the ground. This was, of course, the image on the cover of Iron Maiden’s “Killers” album, and it typifies the aesthetic perfectly.
Though permissible modes of subject matter for lyrics differ from one subgenre to the next, metal has always been focused on power, and its absence, darkness, and its consequences, and elements of mythology and storytelling that invoke the big questions of life and death, heaven and hell, war and peace, freedom and slavery. It is both apolitical, in the sense that metal songs only rarely have explicitly political content, and intensely political, in that its listeners frequently form cohesive working-class bands of individuals who share a common identity and values at odds with the expectations of middle class family life and consumerism. Metal is not punk, it does not seek to overthrow the government. Metal both laments and celebrates the brutality of dictatorship, slavery, and torture, the same way the builders of the ancient pyramids both lamented and celebrated their conscription into a task so brutal, so epic, and so ultimately out of their power to control.
Metal is not alone in music, art, or any other form of human expression in seeking images of darkness and evil. Its single-mindedness is unusual however. In most forms of metal, songwriters are essentially forbidden to stray from images and situations of darkness and evil. Among songwriters, and among subgenres, however, destinations differ. Some metal explores darkness and evil for the purpose of escapism; by allowing the listener to enter a fantasy world of dragons and succubi, events of the real world melt away or become minor cogs in a much larger landscape of heaven and hell, freedom and slavery. Other metal is antiauthoritairan, an influence borrowed from hardcore punk, and focused strongly on current political issues, but always from an individualistic perspective and virtually never calling upon its listeners to follow in any sort of movement. Following directions, joining a movement, obeying authority, are not metal values.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Physoconops
The conopid flies are out. One landed on my tomato plant the other day. Ferocious and strange, these flies are among the most sinister and most impressive two-winged hunters. This group is distributed worldwide, and probably fairly old. The larvae are always parasites of aculeate hymenoptera-ants, bees, wasps, and the like. Adult female conopids aggressively intercept female bees and wasps in flight, and lay eggs on the underside of the host. The female conopid has a modified abdomen that can actually pry open the sternites on the underside of a bee, like a can opener, and lay the eggs right where they can hatch and crawl into the victim. The victim will continue to live for a while, as the larvae eat the internal organs and muscular tissues. The flies actually pupate inside the dead bees before they emerge. Apparently, the conopids have their own natural enemies. Parasitic chalcidoids can somehow hyperparasitize conopid larvae, and pupate within the pupae of the flies, which lie within the dead bee.