Monthly Archives: January 2011

Self-Retrospect #2: ‘Never Knew Your Last Name’

And now for the second installment of Self-Retrospect, where I look back at my silly younger self, the often silly songs I wrote and the inspiration behind them.

The first edition of this series dealt with ‘Breaking’, the earliest song I chose to include on the Projects compilation. That song was special to me as it was the first time I’d put real, honest emotion into a song. The second earliest track I put on Projects was ‘Never Knew Your Last Name’, a simple three-chord song written and recored in August 2001. This was, I think, my first ever attempt at a narrative song, recounting a holiday non-romance from that summer.

The story itself was also quite simple. Again, this was the case of me liking a girl, but then not getting anywhere (I wonder what proportion of all songs have been written on this theme…). Unlike the tortured yearning-from-afar that underpinned ‘Breaking’, though, this was a far more lighthearted, fleeting affair. The whole story took place over the course of a few hours.

Never Knew Your Last Name - Chords

That summer, I was invited by my friend Andrew and his family to join them on their annual trip to France. The invite-a-friend strategy was Andrew’s parents’ attempt to get him, now 17 and having pretty much outgrown the family holiday, to come. Andrew himself was quite surprised (disappointed?!) when I accepted the invitation. The bulk of the vacation was spent at a resort in the south, where we spent most of our days at the pool and evenings drinking. Fairly standard, but enjoyable, holiday fun.

We had travelled by car, so the distance was definitely too much for a one-day journey. We stopped off for one night at a place near Paris on the way down and on the return trip, we stayed at the same place for two nights. The first of those nights, we got to know these two Dutch girls. They were both quite attractive, but somewhat aloof. There certainly weren’t any sparks flying for me anyway, so I didn’t pursue anything.

It was the second night at this place – the last night of the whole holiday – that the events depicted in the song unfolded. Andrew and I were in the bar, playing pool, something we did a considerable amount of on the trip (and in general, during that period of our lives). There was a Scottish family, who had just arrived, sitting at a table nearby. I noticed that the daughter of the family was about our age and was very cute. She also appeared to be a bit bored. I obviously needed to intervene. So, I headed over to the table and asked her if she wanted to play pool. I think I also spoke to her parents, explaining that she’d be in safe hands, etc.

In retrospect, this was a fairly ballsy move on my 17-year-old self’s part. I must have been at least tipsy at this point. Regardless, we weren’t seen as a threat (more likely seen as idiots) and she joined us for a game. She and I flirted a bit, although she did mention that she had a boyfriend back home. I’m not sure if the Dutch girls were around at this point. They may have been. There were definitely, however, two Danish guys who showed up and joined our little party. This kind of threw a spanner in the works, as they began to compete for her attention.

Never Knew Your Last Name - verse two

Did they have an edge? I’m not sure. I think the fact that I’d had a head start of an hour or so gave me a slight advantage. There was the hand-holding action to prove it! In the song I say “I stumbled just to hold [her] hand”, which sounds a bit too ridiculous to be true. Did I actually stumble? Stumble might be a bit of an exaggeration, but, yes, I did actually engineer some kind of slight tripping incident, which resulted in me grasping her hand for support. I know it was silly, but I was young – give me a break! I’m sure it was not at all as subtle or as smooth as I thought it was going to be and, ok, it was somewhat manipulative. But the important thing is that, in spite of the fake fall lasting a split-second, in spite of the Danish presence, even though I gave her every opportunity to relinquish the bond, she continued to hold my hand. And to slightly drunk 17-year-old me, that meant everything.

Ultimately, though, that one bit of physical contact did not lead to anything further. Our night was cut short when Andrew’s mother came to tell us we needed to get to bed soon as we had an early start the next morning. I may have placed the blame on this interruption at the time, but deep down I knew it was a lost cause. What went wrong? Well, the Danes were starting to gain more ground as the night went on. But, naturally enough, it was the boyfriend at home that was always there, standing in the way. In fairness to her, she did notify me of his existence early on in the evening – and shame on me for trying to get in there anyway. Still, I can’t say I wasn’t hopeful that something might happen.

Regarding the last name: no she didn’t tell me what it was. But I never asked, so that wasn’t a big deal. The song just needed some kind of lyrical hook! We didn’t exchange any details at all. I left her with the Danes and was gone early the next morning. That was that. I’ll I had was a lingering memory of holding her hand. And a first name, of course.

AND a photograph. The line in the song, “I took a picture of us both” – that happened. Well, I didn’t take the picture myself. Andrew probably did. It must be somewhere in my room in my mum’s house in Bray. I haven’t seen it in years. I should have looked for it for further research purposes when I was digging up the handwritten notes in these pictures. If I remember correctly, it’s the two of us sitting on a wall or fence, smiling. I think I might have had my arm around her shoulder (so there was more physical contact!).

Never Knew Your Last Name - end

As for the music… Well, let’s have a listen:

As I said, it’s just three chords. Pretty simple stuff, although they were three 7th chords (ooh, fancy) and I used a capo on the guitar – the first song on which I used it, I believe. I don’t think anything more complex than that would have suited the song and probably would have ruined it.

There were a few other firsts on this song, too. It was the first song on which I used my (then brand new) ukulele. My friend Steven, whom I talked about in my post on Fugazi’s The Argument, got me into the whole uke scene. The uke definitely fitted in with/added to the playfulness in the song. This was one of the first songs I’d arranged where the bass part wasn’t just the root notes of the guitar chords. It was mostly improvised, too, including the little solo about a minute in, after the not-at-all-improvised guitar solo. I was quite pleased with how it turned out. Finally, it was the first song in which I’d attempted any kind of harmony vocals. I’ll admit the vocals were still pretty terrible, but at least I was trying to embellish them a bit!

I still quite like this song, even if it also acts as a reminder of how pathetic I was back then. It’s pretty cheesy, but it knows it’s cheesy and doesn’t shy away from it. It has a bounce to it. It’s fun. It has a ukulele in it! What’s not to like?!

Top Ten Albums of 2000-2009: #9 – The Argument

Continuing the series in which I explain why I elected to include certain albums on my somewhat spur-of-the-moment best of the last decade list. This time, it’s those revolutionary, not-so-young-anymore men from Washington, D.C.

The Argument


I got to know Fugazi through my friend, Steven. I’ve got to know a lot of music through Steven. We have quite a long, shared musical history: introducing different artists and bands to one another; going to gigs; watching films about music; having lengthy discussions about music that would probably be mindnumbingly tedious and/or incomprehensible to anyone in the room with us (over the years we’ve even managed to develop a vocabulary of nonword vocalizations and hand gestures to describe certain emotional reactions to music). I think Steven is the only person I’ve ever had a telephone conversation with which consisted entirely of musical discourse.

Steven might correct me, but I believe this music-based camaraderie started when were about 15, when we realized we had similar listening habits. By that I don’t mean we listened to same bands, but we had a similar attitude to music. In particular, we both took an active approach to discovering new artists and to learning more about the artists we did listen to – something most of our classmates didn’t seem that interested in; or at least were not vocal about.

So this realization lead to some lunchtime symposia and CD exchanges. When, in the summer of 2000, I bought a secondhand bass guitar, he was the first person I ever played music with. He came over to our house and we played some Pixies and R.E.M. songs. That was the day he got me into The Clash, too.

And we’ve been great friends ever since. Aww!

Funnily enough, although that all began when were 15 or so, we’ve known each other since we were 7 or 8. In the early years we didn’t really get on at all. Hate’s a very strong word, but for exaggerated emphasis I’m going to go ahead and say we hated each other. I guess we can file this under the bridge-building power of music…

My introduction to Fugazi came from one of those early jam sessions in 2000. We were picking out songs to play and Steven suggested ‘Turkish Disco’ from the Instrument Soundtrack, because of its brilliant bass line:
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After that piqued my interest, he leant me the 13 Songs compilation and Red Medicine. The former I found it difficult to get into. It was a little bit too “punk” for me at the time. (At least, that’s what I thought at the time. Thinking about it now, that was a somewhat unusual reaction to have.) Well, obviously I loved ‘Waiting Room’. But it’s impossible not to love ‘Waiting Room':
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Red Medicine was a different beast altogether. For one, it had possibly the best, most abrasive opening 50+ seconds to any album I’d heard:
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And the songs were rich, varied, exhilarating… And I realize I’ve spent nearly five hundred words not talking about the album I’m supposed to be talking about. I really need to cut down on these extended introductions.

I will have another quick aside though: Instrument, directed by Jem Cohen, is THE BEST FILM ABOUT MUSIC EVER MADE. No exaggeration. I’ve watched it about half a dozen times and it never fails to inspire me. I heartily recommend buying it.

The Argument, their sixth – and, in all likelihood, their final – studio album, came out in October 2001. Steven got his straight from Dischord. He lent it to me shortly after. Like Red Medicine, this album has a 50(-ish)-second introduction. The intro on The Argument, untitled and not at all abrasive, gets its own dedicated track. The sound of radio transmissions and static with a simple cello part on top, it certainly sets a different tone from the openings to the other releases in their catalogue. It’s soft, almost ethereal.

The first song proper is ‘Cashout’, sung by Ian MacKaye. That sentence doesn’t seem especially surprising, but in the context of their earlier work, it’s a minor shock. Up to that point, Ian MacKaye wasn’t really known for his “singing” – in the traditional sense, at least. The division of vocals in Fugazi was, if you oversimplified it, Ian does the shouting, Guy (Picciotto) does the singing. Of course there were exceptions along the way. It’s not like we didn’t know Ian could carry a tune (and Guy has done his fair share of wailing). Still, there was something odd about the first vocal you hear being Ian cooing melodically. Although sonically soft, the lyrical content is still hard-hitting, as you’d expect. Halfway through [spoiler alert!] good old shouty Ian does make a return to hammer the point home. But set alongside the tuneful opening, it’s much more dynamic and feels fresher because of it.

Almost the exact opposite happend on the following song, ‘Full Disclosure’. This one careers along, Guy screaming “I want out” repeatedly over buzz-saw guitars and a groovy rhythm until – BOOM – an upbeat chorus with “oooooh” backing vocals. And then full-on harmonies in the middle eight. This running theme of juxtapositions continues on the next song, ‘Epic Problem’, where stop-start, shouty-Ian (and brilliant, by the way) verses and choruses give way to an almost folky breakdown, with just guitar and voice. The rest of the band comes back in, loud and hard, but the melody in the vocal part is preserved.

In the opening section of the album, they somehow managed to confound expectations and hark back to the strengths of their older material, all the time maintaining this excitement. It’s brilliant.

Things go a bit more left field over the next couple of tracks. ‘Life and Limb’ is probably  my favourite on the album. Its verses are skeletal: Brendan Canty with a tight, restrained beat and guy playing an intricate but “light” guitar part and singing. When bass comes in, with the female backing vocal, it brings this amazing warmth. But at the same time, it has a very unsettling, nervy quality as all. This could be Guy’s ability to turn on the creepy stalker vibe (see the ‘Rend It’ demo on the Instrument Soundtrack). The track’s coup de grâce comes straight after the second chorus, where Guy sings “right away” and there’s short build up to a pause, which leaves you dangling precariously for four beats before …a guitar solo! Like Ian’s singing, guitar solos aren’t usually part of Fugazi’s repertoire. They allow themselves this rare one and it’s a treat. The whole song’s a treat:
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‘The Kill’ and ‘Strangelight’, the two longest songs on the album, keep the sparse eeriness going. Especially ‘The Kill’, bassist Joe Lally’s lead vocal effort. Things get back to “normal” then, with ‘Oh’, ‘Ex-Spectator’ and ‘Nightshop’, before we end on ‘Argument’, probably the most radically different song on the album. Radically different for the band, in that features Ian MacKaye singing melodically through the whole thing!

It seems I’ve short-changed the latter half of the album. I think this is just a simple case of me being too tired to continue writing, unlike in my look back at XTRMNTR, whose second half just isn’t quite as good as its first.

In October 2002, Steven and I saw Fugazi play at the Red Box (now Tripod) in Dublin. Due to technical difficulties, there was a considerable delay before they went on. But when they did they were incredible. Thinking back, it just adds to the disappointment that, like the prospect of a new album, the chances of seeing them on stage ever again are incredibly slim.

So, no more of this:

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or this:

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The Dissertation Files #3: Lessig’s More

In which I try to remain focused while describing my difficulty remaining focused.

Experience has taught me – and everyone, I suppose – that the freedom of choice is a double-edged sword. The more choices you have, the sharper those edges get. Faced with two or three possible flavours of ice-cream, making a choice is usually quite stress-free (you obviously choose to have a scoop of each). However, given a selection of 31, things get a lot trickier. Even after you eliminate the ones you have no intention of even sampling, like banana (something that should only ever be consumed as an actual piece of fruit, never a flavour), you still end up torn between a few great possibilites: ones you’ve had before and know you like, or ones that look/sound so good you’re sure you’ll love them.

What you want to avoid, at all costs, is that regret: thinking that, okay, this flavour is pretty good, but what if another one would have been better? Like the one my friend got instead. The one I am now enviously coveting.

I imagine people might go through a much more intense version of this when faced with decisions of considerably more importance than dessert, such as choosing what house to buy, or whether or not to get married.

The decision I had to make was probably a lot closer in weight to the dessert choice than marriage – what topic to select for my dissertation. The range of options I had were vast, though. Of course it had to be related to digital media in some way, but that could have been any of hundreds of things.

As it turned out, however, the decision was a lot less difficult than I’d expected. This topic stood out, well above the other possibilities, dwarfing them as they futilely attempted to compete for my attention below. For possibly the first time in my life, I was able to choose a topic of coursework for myself that I had a truly immense interest in, something I was highly passionate about.

There was only one edge to this sword! The good edge, too! Or so I thought…

I have since discovered that there is a downside to working on something you find incredibly captivating: It is incredibly captivating.

Over the last few of weeks I have been ingesting so many books, articles, interviews, essays and videos on how copyright laws and digital sampling technology affect creators and consumers of art and it’s all just so fascinating.

That sounds like a wonderful thing. It certainly sounds a lot better than slogging away at a project or essay about something you find unendurably tedious. But is it really? I know that boring material can drive us to external distractions, but usually you’re able to pull it together and get the thing done, even if you don’t enjoy the process.

Here, I find myself getting almost hopelessly distracted by all these things that are actually relevant to my end goal.

Well, I suppose that sentence is a little misleading. A lot of the problematic, distracting material isn’t wholly relevant. It’s just that it is very very closely related (with a few measures of relevance mixed in) – and hence crops in almost all of the same books, articles, videos, etc.

I’m talking here about things like piracy, peer-to-peer file-sharing, record industry associations suing dead grandmothers for downloading music, how the industry in general reacts to possible cases of copyright infringement (including sampling in music), etc.

But, David, all those sounds like things that you should be researching, aren’t you going to include that kind of stuff in the dissertation?

Yes and no. Really, the difficulties with choosing to do a paper on something you’re really interested in aren’t the direct result of it being interesting, it’s that the format of this project has limitations.

The dissertation has to be 12,000 words. When I first learned of this, I found the idea of writing something of that length incredible daunting. Again, because I had done exactly zero essays in my undergraduate studies. I still find the idea of writing 12,000 words on this topic quite daunting, but it’s because I have to squeeze all these ideas into just 12,000 words. With that limitation, I had to narrow it down. And because so much existing literature concentrates on corporations battling average consumers, Internet piracy and so forth, I chose to focus mainly on how sampling affects the artists themselves.

Hmm, perhaps I should start imposing word limits on these blog posts in order to force me to be more concise; get to the point a bit quicker. That said, I’ve probably made my point in this one already – and I’m under 780 words so far. Shortest post yet! Go me!

…and now I’ve gone over that.

I did want to say something about Lawrence Lessig, if only to justify the pun in the title.

I’ll let his official site’s info page tell you who he is, if you’re unfamiliar. I first encountered him when I watched RiP: A Remix Manifesto (which you can freely watch or download), a documentary-ish film about copyright which will most likely end up in my dissertation’s bibliography. He also features in Good Copy, Bad Copy, another film I will inevitably be referencing.

I’m currently reading his latest book, Remix: Making Art and Commerce Thrive in the Hybrid Economy. Unlike most of the other books I’m looking at for this paper, I’m not scanning it, hunting down the most relevant snippets of info. No, I’m actually reading it. Because the man writes well. And he’s persuasive. I sometimes feel like I’m nodding along as I read, as if he were in the room talking to me. Maybe I am actually nodding. But that would make reading text a bit tricky, so I’d have noticed if I was.

Lessig’s all about balance. Unlike some of the activists in this area, who are fighting for its abolition, Lessig believes that copyright is a good thing. There’s just a (significant) lack of balance in its current implementation. His aim is to strike that balance: between protecting authors of works, while allowing others to reuse, reinterpret and remix those works without fear of being sued.

To that end he (co-)founded Creative Commons, “a nonprofit organization that develops, supports, and stewards legal and technical infrastructure that maximizes digital creativity, sharing, and innovation.” Creative Commons offers licences, which artists use to let people know what rights they have in relation to using the work. The default one is the Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike (BY-NC-SA) licence, which allows the public to share the work and to remix it, provided they attribute the source, do not sell it and share any remixes they make in the same fashion. At first glance, it sounds like a something only nerdy amateurs would be messing around with. But some nerdy famous folk have been at it too. And with rewarding results.

Creative Commons will definitely feature if/when I discuss alternatives to copyright in the dissertation, so I may end up writing more about it here. Or not. Time is of the essence and these blog posts, while helpful (for me at least!), are obviously not as high on my priority list as the paper itself!

I shall leave you with Lessig’s 2007 TED talk. Enjoy! [it seems Universal Music Group doesn't want people embedding this in blogs - how hilariously apt! You can watch it on Youtube here.]
(He also did one last year. It is here.)

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