Showing posts with label Madison. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Madison. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 7, 2023

TTRPG Conventions Tips and Tricks

 So you've hemmed and hawed and stewed and thought about one of the oldest questions in tabletop roleplaying: Should I attend an RPG convention?

There's a lot behind that one question and a lot of reasons that answering the questions behind the question can lead to a lot of worry and analysis paralysis. By the time you think you've thought it through, the opportunity to register has come and gone and soon, with it, yet another unattended convention. I know. I've been there. It can be daunting. I'm here to help.

I'm no pro at attending conventions. All told I believe I've attended 18 or so? That's a lot less than many. Some of that has to do with budget, but mostly, for me, it's about time. I have to take days off work to enjoy my favorite conventions, so I burn, in total, about a week's worth of PTO every year on cons. You might not have that luxury. So I'm hoping that what I share here will at least answer a few questions and give you more information so that you can make a good decision of what to do with your valuable time. I honestly wish I had a "coach" to guide me through my first couple of cons, someone who knew the ropes. And I did have people help me along the way . . . a bit. Some of the things I've learned just came through making mistakes and learning from them and maybe getting lucky a time or two along the way. So this is my way of paying it forward.

Keep in mind that this is drawn purely from my own experience. Your experience will likely be different. A gaming con can be a big event, with lots of moving parts. No two cons are ever the same, and that's good! But I hope that my experiences can help to alleviate some fears and might even entice you to join us con-goers.

Why should I go to a gaming convention?

1. Sure, you play elf games. But do you play human games about elves? Going to a gaming convention is an immersive human experience. Be prepared to meet new people, but don't think you have to be an extrovert to fit in. Au contraire, I am an introvert by nature. I recharge on my own, thank you very much. Being around people saps me of energy. At the same time, I'm energized by gaming. I have to admit, it takes a LOT out of me to run a game. But it puts a lot into me to play a game. It's not that I dislike running games, I like running them, but I am always a spent shadow of myself by the time the session is done. So I don't run a lot of games at conventions. One, maybe. Two max. I've run two games twice and it took a full afternoon just to recover. Thankfully, I played games at tables with others who "fed" me. I developed friendships at the table. Real, honest to goodness friendships with people who care about me, who I visit, when possible, outside of gaming. I'll never forget at Garycon back in 2018, one month after my mother passed away (and one month before, unbeknownst to me, my father would pass away) a friend I had met gaming gave me a little tap on the arm and said "hey, man, I'm really sorry to hear about your mother". That moment touched me deeply. I'll never forget that simple act. That would not have happened if it wasn't for attending gaming conventions and developing a friendship with that individual. More on him later.

2. I've developed a standing wish-list for gaming conventions. Whenever possible, I want to play 1 game of DCCRPG/MCCRPG, 1 game of Call of Cthulhu (preferably with the wonderful crew of You Too Can Cthulhu), 1 miniatures game, and 1 game in a system I've never played before. That last one is key, and I've been able to do this at every major con I've attended. I've been introduced to games that I might never have had the chance to play before, games I read about in gaming magazines way back in the '80s, games I had heard of but couldn't play because of proximity to other people playing those games, obscure games, games I promised myself I would play years ago. Some of them lived up to and even exceeded expectations (Empire of the Petal Throne, I'm looking at you), some were frankly disappointments, but I always learned something by trying out a new system and in a couple of case, new doors were opened that I have stepped into wholeheartedly. As I said earlier, I always try to squeeze in at least one miniatures game. I have not found one I didn't love. But I can't afford to just buy gobs of miniatures. So I let gamemasters/judges at cons do it for me. I consider some of the money I pay to attend cons as a "rental fee" for other peoples minis. 

3. As I kid back in the late '70s and early '80s, I idolized game designers. I couldn't afford to make the trip to Lake Geneva to meet Gary Gygax, but I really wanted to. Another one who I really wanted to meet was Marc Miller, designer of Traveller. While I never got to meet GG (though I lived only an hour from Lake Geneva for the last decade of his life), I did get to meet and play Traveller with Marc Miller at Garycon which, ironically, I supposed, is a convention formed after the death of Gary Gygax in 2008. I found Marc an incredibly nice, humble person who paid close attention to each of his players, whom he only knew when they showed up at the table. I admit I fanboyed a bit and told him that I'd been waiting to play at his table since I was 12 years old, and that he did not disappoint. He signed my The Traveller Book and gave me a "nobility" card. It was a great moment. Last year, I was signed up for his Advanced Traveller seminar at Gameholecon, but, alas, he had just spent his strength at an all-Traveller convention a week or two before and had to cancel. I'm hoping to catch that seminar again sometime soon. 

I also had the distinct privilege of playing the AD&D Rogues Gallery "personality" Lassiviren the Dark at none other than Al Hammack's own table. It was an all-evil party of Greyhawk PCs of evil alignment. Hammack had played Lassiviren in Gary Gygax's Greyhawk campaign, and here I was, at his table, playing his character! Now, one of the stupid magic users decided to cast a lightning bolt at a devil prince, which bounced around the room (did I mention stupid?) and hit the infamous assassin, wiping him out. 



I've met many RPG "celebrities" (very few of whom claim the title of "celebrity" - we gamers seem to be a mostly humble bunch), some of whom I didn't really like (I won't mention the name, but if I did, you know him and have heard of him a LOT), and some of whom have become close friends. You'll have the same chance to meet these men and women at cons. It might be intimidating, but screw up your courage and just go introduce yourself. I guarantee that 99.9% of them will be glad to meet you and speak with you. Just remember that they don't necessarily remember all the details of things they've done and written that you might remember, and that they might be on the way to some important engagement that might cut the conversation short. Be cool, and they'll be cool (except that one guy).

4. Think your FLGS (Friendly Local Gaming Store) is great? You're probably right. But in terms of sheer quantity of gaming stuff to see in person and purchase from the makers (who are usually more than glad to sign the book/poster/thing you purchase), you cannot beat a gaming convention. Think of it as that market your characters meander through, looking for that perfect sword, suit of armor, or herbal mixture. It's like that, but with dice, books, t-shirts, dice towers, and lots and lots of cool fantasy art. 

5. You won't find more RPG-specific art than at a con. I've been able to meet and shake hands with and, most importantly BUY something from artists whose work I have admired for decades, as well as some newly-discovered artists whom I'd never even heard of. One word of caution: don't ask an artist if they will do something for you without paying them. They need your support, even if it's just in buying a $5 decal or a bookmark or something. They are professionals. Be professional. Don't get me wrong - they love gaming and art and they want to talk gaming and art. But buy what you can. Support them!

How Do I Do It?

1. First rule, try not to be intimidated. Yeah, there are some people who are jerks in the gaming community. But by and large, we are a very friendly bunch. We want to have fun together, and we want to help people have fun together. No one's going to grade your "performance," especially as a player. As a GM, sure, people will judge you. That's built in to leading any group of people. But as a player, the GM, in all likelihood, really wants to help you. In my experience, most con table require no experience in the game being played, or even in gaming at all. And I've noted that at every con game I've been in where a rank beginner is playing, not only the GM, but someone at the table WANTS to help them have fun and understand the game! Don't worry about making mistakes. These are games of the imagination with some semblance of loose structure in the form of rules. Everyone at the table, including the GM, makes mistakes. You will, too. Embrace it as a learning opportunity that allows you to help the next beginner at your table who needs help. Having gone through the same process of learning from errors, you can be an invaluable help to them. Pay it forward!

2. In terms of mechanics of most cons: Yes, you do need a stinking badge. Typically there will be a tiered system of badges (Gold, then Silver, for example) where the more you pay, the earlier you get to register for games. There may be swag incentives for buying the more expensive tickets, too. If you, like me, buy the lower tier ticket, be prepared to miss out on the opportunity to play the most desirable games. The gold ticket people often get those slots before you will - indeed, you pay to play. I don't like it, but that's the way it is. 

3. Don't overplan. Gaps are good. I would recommend leaving plenty of space in between games to eat, use the bathroom, take a nap, and, most importantly, play games that are not on the formal con schedule. In fact some of the best games I've played and run have been "off books" - a spontaneous game in a lobby or an unused room or even in the hallway. First time I played Runequest was in an off-the-books game in the convention center hallway sitting on a pair of benches in a nook where the landline pay phones were. And it was awesome! Some con-goers who have a room will invite others (people they know) to come play a game there. You might be invited to a hotel room game by someone you just met that day at an earlier table. Happened to me, and, again, it was awesome! The great thing about off-books games is that the GM is often running a system that they didn't think would be well-received or that they just didn't want to "perform" in public. The Runequest game, by the way, we played because RQ creator Greg Stafford had just passed away, and someone I had met at the con that day wanted to run a tribute game in his memory. Amazing.

4. After hours games are the best. Don't count on getting much sleep. I think I average about five hours of sleep a night during cons. Some of my favorite, most memorable games have been played at "Stupid O'Clock". Yeah, everyone's a little punch-drunk and rummy from lack of sleep, which makes for a lot of craziness in the game. Crazy stuff happens at night at a gaming convention, when everyone's relaxed and just a little kooky. I have so many memories of late night games that I can't even list them all. I ran "Bunnies and Burnouts" late one night (think Watership Down, but the bunnies were able to kill the band High On Fire and steal their tour bus, drive it into a downtown high-school science fair and cause a small nuclear explosion), I've played Mork Borg in the grim dead of night, I've seen Fetal Kanye West shot in the face with a Bazooka wielded by an evil Pope, I've played an 8th level (!) DCC game with tyrannosaurs whose forelimbs had been replaced with chainsaws - and all of this made complete SENSE at the time. Stupid O'Clock is the BEST time for gaming at a con! Oh, and none of these games are on-books (though you can find on-books games that start at 9 and go to midnight, if you like).

5. Find a forbidden place. This is one of my favorite "secrets" and it will probably get me in trouble. As your walking through the convention center, just check to see if "that door" is open. Then invite some friends in for a quick game in the mechanicals room. Or, see that hotel room with no door on it where they're refurbishing the room? It's 11 at night. No one's going to come by. Go on in and play something there. Just be careful not to touch any exposed wires.

Like I said, I'm probably going to get in trouble for suggesting this. But trust me, it's worth it.

Sometimes it's helpful to just ask a facility's staff member or janitor if they can let you in to an otherwise "forbidden" room. People love to be naughty. But if you get caught, don't rat out the janitor. That's just uncool.

6. Take care of yourself. Sleeps out the window, but take a cat nap between games, if you can. Be sure to hydrate! Drink lots of water (and know where the nearest bathrooms are). Be sure to eat. I've gone for long stretches forgetting to eat, then wondering why I'm getting cranky. But really, drink water - lots of water!!! Also, step outside. Seriously. Get some fresh air. Even if it's a few seconds in the dead of winter in Wisconsin - get outside for a few minutes. You need to breathe. Another thing: scout the bathrooms. The proportion of bathrooms versus people is likely WAY too low. Those places are going to get trashed over the course of the convention, so know where ALL the bathrooms are. Last year at a convention that will go un-named, I sat in a stall that was fairly clean, full of TP, good to go. In the stall to my left, I could hear another person doing his business. I heard that familiar clatter from the TP dispenser that one always hears in a public bathroom. The clatter got more and more frantic, then spilled into complete panic, followed by "OH DEAR GOD!" - I hope that guy isn't reading this because I stifled a laugh, finished my business, and abandoned that poor soul. Hopefully he made it over to my stall, which was amply stocked with TP. I didn't stick around to find out. I promptly evacuated. It wasn't my finest hour.

What Cons Should I Go To? What Do You Recommend?

1. This might surprise people, but I have never been to Gencon, so I can't really speak about it. One of these years I'll get there at least once. But the idea of 60K sweaty nerds is not appealing. Even if I had been, I wouldn't try to tackle that one in this paragraph. I remember when I was in grad school I had a graduate seminar on Genocide. Charming topic, let me tell you. Every day we walked out of that class feeling like there was little hope for humanity. However, we never, and I mean NEVER tackled the Holocaust. It was just too big of a subject. And, given the evil in the world, we had plenty to talk about in that class without mentioning the worst of the worst. My point, poorly made, is that Gencon is too big to be tackled in a paragraph. It's its own thing. I'd love to hear about others' experiences in the comments, however. 

2. Garycon, which takes place in the spring in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, is probably my favorite con in terms of who I see there and the mix of games. You'll find a lot of "old school" games there, as well as a few newer games (some of which really hew to an "old school" feel - Mothership, for example, or Dungeon Crawl Classics). It was hear I sat down at Marc Miller's table. I don't know the exact numbers, but I think attendance is somewhere between 1-3K people. Here you'll find a fair amount of after-hours games going on, and I'm usually in one or more over the course of the witching hour. It's at Geneva Commons, which used to be the Playboy Club years ago. It's got a lot of character, and the lobby is very comfy. Food at the restaurant is pretty decent. Now, I will say that I've encountered a fair amount of speed bumps there. One year the event registration system completely collapsed and a lot of people did not get their choice of games, even though they were ready literally at the second event registration opened. Then I got the song and dance that "hey, we're just amateurs here, we don't make any money." Utter BS. I know how much I paid and I know how many people were attending that year. They could have hired a consultant who knew what the heck they were doing, but they skimped and everything came crashing down. They've improved by moving to tabletop events, but I'm still pretty bitter about that one. I've also seen several issues with tables being double booked, though not this past year. All that said, it is a great time, with great people, and I now that Luke Gygax, who runs the thing, is responsive and has made a LOT of improvements over time. It's just going to take a while to lose the sting of past years. Anyway, I do love the old school feel there. One year, they had the original painting from the 1st edition DMG on display, along with all the original little brown D&D books, as well as an original 1st edition copy of Empire of the Petal Throne, all just sitting out at a table for you to look at. I thought "this is incredible - here are books and a painting that are worth literally thousands of dollars, out in the open and everyone who comes by to look a this table on the side of one of the gamerooms is respectful and knows better than to touch, even though none of this is under glass or guard." Made me proud to be a gamer. And if it's your first time at Garycon, be sure to take a moment to pay your respects. Out in the main hallway upstairs you'll find a chair and desk with a DM screen and Gary's original Hawaiian shirt that he wore while DMing, along with a picture and placard dedicated to him. I honestly cried the first time I saw it. Real tears. It was touching. Go pay your respects.

3. Gameholecon takes place in Madison, Wisconsin, each autumn. When I lived in Madison, I literally walked to this con, as the Alliant Energy Center in which it takes place was about a 30 minute walk from my house. The Alliant Center is, well, a convention center. It's not nearly as cozy as the old Playboy Club in Lake Geneva. But it is extremely well-organized and run. Volunteers are pleasant and helpful, and the whole operation just hums. You'll find a lot of old-school RPGing happening here, but you'll also see more contemporary systems like Savage Worlds, Numenera, and so forth. the D&D Adventurers' League gets its own room, and there is a Magic The Gathering con-within a con there, as well. Food is adequate inside, but if you go outside, there's bound to be three or four food carts, which is where you really want to get your food, trust me. The convention center is also attached to the Clarion Suites, which used to be more for open gaming, but has been encroached on with on-books games as Gameholecon has expanded. Overall, there's a more formal feel to Gameholecon than to Garycon, but I think this has to do with the Alliant Center shutting its doors at night, whereas Geneval Commons, as far as I can tell, is pretty much open, at least in the hallways and lobby, 24/7. 

4. If meeting in person isn't your thing, for whatever reason, there are virtual cons available that are a lot of fun. The Cyclops series of virtual cons, run by Goodman Games, is a great example of what a virtual con can be. I've attended a couple and rather enjoyed myself. Now, there is a caveat: because I had met many of the people I played with in person at Garycon and Gameholecon, there was a much more personal connection. However, I've played in virtual cons with total strangers and enjoyed the heck out of myself. During the height of covid, for example, Garycon and Gameholecon went fully virtual. I was able to play MERP, which I had wanted to play since I was a teenager, and having that game online was actually really helpful, as the GM had plugged all kinds of algorithms into Roll20 such that one did not need to go through the convoluted math inherent in that game. The computer did all the crunching for us, and having looked at the rules a few times, I can tell you that the game would have been sluggish were it not for our automagic calculations. Note also that both Garycon and Gameholecon have a virtual element, so be careful when choosing events that you choose the right type. I accidentally signed up for a virtual game last year for Gameholecon, but thankfully found my error a few weeks before the con. So I bowed out of that and let someone else take the slot, since I was attending physically. 

5. Sometimes, you'll find gaming conventions that are not gaming conventions. For example, a few years ago, one of our local science fiction conventions, Oddcon, added a game element. Sessions were small, with very few people, but I was able to game with a couple of noteworthy people in the DCC community that I knew and we introduced a few total strangers to the game and had a great time. So keep your eyes on other, more local conventions that might not advertise their game aspect well. You might be surprised!

6. During the height (or lows) of Covid, I became convinced that if the epidemic continued at the same pace, the larger cons would break up as people created and ran private or invite-only cons. I had hopes to do this myself, but when the huge victorian house I tried to buy fell through (long story), my hopes were dashed. I fully intended to run Call of Cthulhu games for around 50 people, but, alas, it wasn't to be. I still have dreams of running something in my back yard one summer. Larry Hamilton ran a con out of his garage the year before last, I think, and I came within a hairs-breadth of attending, but wasn't able to make it. I still regret that. I believe he had something like 15 people in attendance and he literally held it in his garage. Sounds perfect to me. This past week, I attended a private con put on by a fantasy artist whose work you've likely seen (especially if you play DCC/MCC). It was a small gathering - nine people at the height of it. I saw people I haven't seen for many years there, which was awesome. Given the crew there, was absolutely insane. We played DCC, of course, several rounds of The Red Dragon Inn, TMNT (my first time! We played skater camels!), and a game in which everyone rolled up characters from a different system and all played in the same game (it worked, but I'm not sure how - I had a Classic Traveller ex-Marine, if you must know), and lots and lots of conversation about game theory and gaming in general. It's like getting together with your friends for D&D at your parents' place, except it's bigger, you're bigger, and it's at your friend's place, not his parents place. Without responsible adults there, I guarantee hijinks ensue. And that's why we're all in this anyway, right? There will be another one in September, and I am going to do everything I can to make it there.

CONclusion:

Well, I hope this is at least nominally helpful to you. I'm certain many people will comment and tell me that I'm wrong . . . and, to be honest, they're right. Con-going is a very personal experience. I'm certain I've forgotten key points of advice, my critique might be harsh in some regards, and I might be wearing rose-colored glasses in others. If you've been to cons, I'd love to read about it in the comments, good or bad. Hopefully this can become a sort of clearing house for people's thoughts on conventions (or reasons why they don't want to think about them). Lastly, I'm biased. I love the few cons I attend. I've made lifelong friends through them and played some of the most memorable games of my life in them, as well (ask me sometime about my first experience playing Star Frontiers at Garycon. You probably won't believe me even if I told you what happened in that game.). So I encourage you to screw up your courage and give it a shot. And if you do so and run into me at a con, I'd love to meet you. 

See you at the table!

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If you like my writing and want to help out, ko-fi me at https://ko-fi.com/forrestaguirre. Every little bit is seen and appreciated! Thank you!

Wednesday, April 17, 2019

Copsford

CopsfordCopsford by Walter J.C. Murray
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

As a child, I roamed. I was born to roam, I suppose – an American born in Germany who lived in Germany, Texas, the Philippine Islands, Italy, and Minnesota all before the age of ten. Lived – not visited. I have a difficult time remember all the places we visited as a family during that time. Like most children of that day and age, before over-protectiveness stifled wanderlust, I wandered on my own a fair amount, too. After Minnesota, we moved to Nebraska and, when I was 15, we moved to England, where I wandered far and wide, rarely with family, sometimes with friends, often alone – me, on foot, bike, bus, or train, all across England. This summer, my wife and I are planning to travel back there (tickets are already bought) to spend a week in England, then a week in Central Europe (mostly Austria, where my wife lived for a year and a half in her early twenties). But we are avoiding, as much as possible, the glitz of London, the dance halls of Manchester, and spending the vast majority of our time in the area I learned to love by wandering its hills: The Cotswolds. I am planning on doing myself the favor of shutting off my smart phone, save to take photographs or get directions. I long to unconnect, then reconnect. I am fighting to regain my right to roam untethered, if only for a short time.

What do I mean by reconnecting? I struggle to know if it is the vanity of trying to connect with myself or some idealized connection with the world that I strive for, that I enjoyed so much in carefree hours as a child and that I only get today in snippets. It is manifest in a return to the sense of the smell of the fields, the feeling of sun on my skin, the sight of wind combing long grasses, the various voices of wind through the trees. While the sensations are brought from the far reaches of the world (or possibly even beyond, at least in my romantic imaginings), I am the receptacle of the sensations. So, whether the search is vanity or altruism – I cannot tell.

Copsford came at a fortuitous, unexpected time. I am a steady consumer of Tartarus Press books, but this one is significantly different for them – a naturalist work with no supernatural elements at all, a non-fictional work (if Murray is to be trusted, and I think he is). While it takes place in east Sussex, far away from the Cotswolds, I also recall hiking on the High Weald, very near where the book takes place, so I have an affinity for that area, as well. When I first read the notice that Tartarus was producing this work in hardcover, I jumped on it and ordered it as soon as I could, not arguing with the magical timing of the release vis-à-vis my trip back to a place I have not been in over thirty years.

The truth of the matter is that I was legally banished from the place that I had lived in England at the age of 18. It was the late ‘80s, the war on drugs was in full swing, and I lost a battle. Faced with the possibility of a long prison sentence, I count myself blessed that the judge only banished me from the Air Force Base on which the laws were transgressed. Now, the base has been decommissioned, and I will get to go back without fear of the law, to visit the place I once loved. Of all the places I’ve lived in the world, I miss England the most and most especially, the English countryside.

Keep in mind, also, that the last time I lived with my parents for any appreciable length was when we lived in England. With the passing of my Mother last February and my Father last April, is it a coincidence that life has favored me now with the opportunity to go back, just at the time this book was released? You decide.

Copsford recounts the stay of the author, Walter J.C. Murray, at a derelict cottage on a farm, far to the south of London, where he had resided before then. He only stayed there for a spring, summer, and a winter, but it was obviously a profound event for him. Were I not married, with obligations to children and a grandchild (and another, before we leave on our trip), I might be tempted to take the pauper’s course and do something similar, odd as it may sound. But Murray lived in a time in which he could harvest and sell herbs at a good enough rate to actually survive (with some of his savings, from his employment in London), whereas I would stand a good chance of starvation, should I try the same.

It was characteristic of the place that I heard it before I saw it. As I approached, the blustering wind brought to my ears the forlorn rattle of ill-fitting windows that had not been opened for twenty years. There was, too, the thump-thump of a door that swung heavily but never latched: And then I saw it. Grass grew up to the very door-step. The walls were bare, hideously bare; no ivy, rambler, not a plant or shrub nestled against them, just stark brick from grey slate roof to the ground. It would not have been Copsford had bowers of honeysuckle overhung the port or sweet clematis smiled about the sills. There were four windows and a door, not in the usual childish arrangement, but three on the upper floor, and one on the ground floor to the left of the front door. They were square-cornered and grim, and several broken panes gaped darkly at me. There was an ugly grey chimney-stack at the south end, the cottage face east, and on the north wall was a half-ruined brick-and-slate shed to which the door was gone. There had been a wood fence between what should have been the garden and the field, but only the uprights remained and one or two tumbled cross-bars, crumbling in their slots. The rough grass of the field swept in unhindered, lapped the walls of the cottage, washed round behind it. Like a flood-tide, it swamped everything; the cottage stood, a barren, inhospitable rock in the midst.

This introduction is symbolic of the push and pull between beauty and decay that Murray moved between. It was not all flowers and birdsongs (though there if plenty of these, as well). Writers interested in giving a realist bent to post-apocalyptic fiction should read this chapter about Murray's war against the rats. There is grist for the mill here. Now I see why giant rats were a thing in Dungeons and Dragons.

Much of the heartbeat of Murray’s experience had to do with his keen awareness of his surroundings: The weather ruled all, and I often thought of all those millions in London, and indeed in every town and city, to whom changes in the weather meant no more than carrying or not carrying a gamp to the station, office, or workshop; all those for whom work went on just as ever it had done, no matter whether skies were blue or grey, no matter whether the sparkling dew drenched the awakening countryside, no matter whether the wind set hard and dry in the east or wet and billowy from the west. And I wondered, wondered at the artificiality of their lives, cut off from natural loveliness, variety and life . . . Being a city-dweller now for some years (right on the wild edge of a major city), I do miss that connection, or at least a fullness of it, that one feels when one lives in the landscape. Some of this has to do with not having the time to wander like I did as a child, to feel the land in you.

For a time, in the late ‘90s and early 2000s, I worked at the largest canoe and kayak shop in the US (at that time, anyway). My house is a block from one of the main lakes in Madison (a city built “on” four interconnected lakes) and I was able to canoe to and from work each day, so long as the water wasn’t yet hard. During those commutes, I often felt locked in with nature, that my human body was once again a part of the Earth from which it arose (and to which it will return). One of the primary reasons for this was the connection I felt with the light of day and its energizing effect on me. Murray puts it this way:

. . . during those summer months at Copsford, when I was oppressed by no anxieties or worries, when no evil bore me down, when I lived to the full every carefree hour, when perhaps my eye was single, it was then that light had its strongest hold upon me. Do not we take light too much for granted? Is not light the only chain that links universe to universe at last?

Because Floss (Murray’s dog) and I rose early to greet the sun on those happy summer mornings, it must not be thought that I was one of those unbelievable persons who can always spring on waking, from their beds, fresh and energetic. In those Copsford days, it was natural; it would have been unthinkable, impossible, to lie in bed with the July sun rising high in the heavens . . .


One reason for my distance from nature must have to do with driving. When I lived in England, I did not drive, but bussed, rode my bike, and walked everywhere. I walked a lot. I still take great joy in walking when winter has abated. But time is limited now, and I cannot wander, as I did as a child, for hours on end. I am, sadly, more connected with pavement than with dirt, though I do take opportunity to hike when I can. Because of this, I have a great deal of jealousy for Murry and his summer on foot:

We walked on regardless of time and distance. That upland turf is a carpet which never seems to weary those who tread it. So short it is, so compact, so springy; and the view and the sea and the distance hypnotized us; and the roll of the hills, fold on fold, lured us on. There should be no end to such travellers’ joy.

I could not agree more. I am ready to wander and not be lost. Catch me if you can!


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Saturday, April 13, 2019

Art Deco: An Illustrated Guide to the Decorative Style, 1920-40

Guide To Art Deco Style 1920 40, Illustrated Guide To The Decorative StyleGuide To Art Deco Style 1920 40, Illustrated Guide To The Decorative Style by Arie van de Lemme
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

For the life of me, I can't understand the low ratings given for this book on Goodreads. Then again, some of the same people who gave it low ratings also gave The Catcher in the Rye five stars, and you know my opinions regarding that putrescent skid mark on the underwear of literature.

Now that I've gotten that out of my system . . .

As an undergraduate, I was a Humanities Major with a history emphasis. This meant that I studied a bevy of disciplines, including visual arts, sculpture, architecture, dance, cinema, theater, music, philosophy, history, and literature. It was a good education. While studying, I became particularly enamored of a few different artistic movements: Art Nouveau, Modern Abstractionism, Pre-Raphaelite art, and Art Deco. I did a fairly exhaustive study of each (I had to in order to graduate!), so I'm coming at this as someone who knows a bit about the movement and the art movements that were chronologically before, during, and after Art Deco. There was a lot going on there between the two World Wars, and I don't have the time or patience to outline the historical precedents and antecedents of the movement known as Art Deco.

I don't really have to, because Art Deco: An Illustrated Guide to the Decorative Style has done a pretty good job of it. No, it's not a philosophically deep treatise. If someone were looking for that, I'd recommend a book a little longer than 128 pages, many of which are taken with pictorial examples of the trends being examined therein. But the introductory chapters give a very good, high-level overview of the context in which the movement arose, taking L'Exposition Des Arts Decoratifs Et Industriels of 1925 as an approximate starting point. From hence the term "Art Deco" arose.

After a brief, but more than adequate review of the history, the book plunges into the various areas in which Art Deco manifested itself. Far from being a merely artistic (that is, painterly) phenomenon, Art Deco was a true movement, an attitude, really, of some parts of society (those that would afford it - though mass production and cheap materials made Art Deco more easily available to common folk) that was reflected in the material culture of Europe and the United States. This inhered in the realms of great commissions (such as the great luxury ship Normandie, The Hoover Factory in Britain, and The Chrysler Building in New York City), furniture, metalwork, tableware, ceramics, glass, fashion, painting, design, and jewellery [sic], all of which are addressed in this work. One of the more interesting aspects of this movement is the fact that there was very little by way of visual arts (namely painting) and that other visual movements, such as cubism and fauvism, were predominant in the world of painting. There are few paintings outside of posters that can be termed "Art Deco" proper, but almost any painting of the time would likely be surrounded by Art Deco sculpture, framed in wood crafted in an Art Deco style, and many of them would be housed in a building that was composed of Art Deco elements. Think of Art Deco as, quite literally, the world in which other art was housed.

One can gather from this that the line between art and craft was often blurred during this period. Many of the more prominent practitioners of one discipline were inclined to cross over into another or, at least, to collaborate with another. For example, the famous metalworker Edgar Brandt, created bronze jardinieres with cobras rearing their heads, which were, in turn, surmounted by exquisite glass work by the famed Antoine Daum. The architect Frank Lloyd Wright (one of our hometown heroes here in Madison, Wisconsin) designed furniture in his signature style, and many other craftsmen and artists worked magnificent pieces outside of their moyen.

My solitary complaint about the book is that sometimes a piece is referenced on a page nowhere near its picture, and a few pieces that are lauded with high praise do not appear in the book at all. A few of these are because the artifact that held them (namely, the ship Normandie) was scuttled and no longer exists. Not all the sands of time make it from the top of the hourglass to the bottom, unfortunately.



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Saturday, August 4, 2018

Gyorgy Ligeti: Of Foreign Lands and Strange Sounds

György Ligeti: Of Foreign Lands and Strange SoundsGyörgy Ligeti: Of Foreign Lands and Strange Sounds by Louise Duchesneau
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Though I am an avant-classical enthusiast, I am by no means an expert. I cannot read music and the instrument I play is electric guitar, and that, badly. But I'm willing to learn a few things, even if I clearly don't have time or the gumption to become a true aficionado. So you'll please excuse this layman's delve into a work that would speak far more clearly to the musically-trained. And yet, I can't help but think that while the intellectual appreciation of the book might be somewhat heightened by such training, my enjoyment of the book was only slightly hampered by my admitted ignorance. One need not have a thorough understanding of musical notation to appreciate Of Foreign Lands and Strange Sounds .

In fact, I wonder if such an acute focus on the music on the page itself might not get in the way of really enjoying the exploration of Ligeti's creative mind. Chapter Eight, in fact (which I would argue should have been Chapter One or Two, for the sake of the untrained reader), "Rules and Regulations: Lessons from Ligeti's Compositional Sketches," an essay by University of Washington Professor of Music Theory Jonathan W. Bernard, is an enlightening look into the many different methods Ligeti used to notate his own music-in-progress. Bernard shares a loose taxonomy of the "sketch types" Ligeti used while composing: Jottings, Drawings, Charts, Tables, and finally, Music Notation. Color plates in the middle of the book showing Ligeti's original papers augment the reader's experience. Here, one can get a more visceral feel for what Ligeti's music "looks like" on paper - a wonderful thing for those of us who are visual-kinesthetic learners! If you, like me, have little or no musical training, I would recommend starting with Chapter Eight.

There, now that you've read Chapter Eight, turn to Chapter One: "'We play with the music and the music plays with us;: Sandor Veress and his Student Gyorgy Ligeti," by University of Calgary Musicology Professor Friedemann Sallis. This will give you the background on Ligeti's early studies, the discipline instilled in him by Veress, and his growth both with and against those teachings, much of which was (later) pushed by political circumstances around him, especially the suppression of folk traditions and traditional folk music by the mid-20th-Century Communist regimes in Eastern Europe.

Now that one has this background, the reader can (should?) then skip up to Chapter Seven, written by Ligeti's long time assistant (and co-editor of this volume), Louise Duchesneau: "'Play it like Bill Evans': Gyorgy Ligeti and Recorded Music". Here we explore Ligeti's like and dislikes and take a deep delve into his personal record collection! I found this fascinating, not just because of Ligeti's wide interests (he took a liking to Supertramp at one point, after being introduced to their music by one of his students), but because Duchesneau here outlines the entirety of Ligeti's career, conveniently parsing his music into several distinct phases. Though the borders between these phases were not always crystal clear, sometimes they were, as in the time when he rejected "Modernist" work and returned to his Hungarian folk roots after a many-decades-long absence or, more properly, intellectual exile (partially self-imposed, partially imposed by the external chilling effect of having to flee oppression of expression).

From there, one may read the rest of the book in order (yes, you have my permission), as the sequence of Chapters Eight, then One, then Seven, will give you all the under-girding you need to contextualize the other essays, which vary from examinations of specific pieces to poetic connections, Ligeti's fascination with African music, his appreciation for and the influence on his music by the principles of chaos and fractals, Stanley Kubrik's use of Ligeti's music in his movies (an amazing cross-media examination that my Humanities professors would have loved), and impressions of those who were his students.

One theme that ran through the book, whether explicitly or implicitly, was that of a man un-moored from his homeland who longed to retain some aspect of that homeland which he had left, but who was not blindly beholden to the place of his birth and childhood. This is where the book connected with me emotionally, rather than just intellectually. I am an American citizen, born in Germany into a U.S. Air Force family, and have lived all over the world. Though I love the place I live now, it has taken me many years to call any one place "home". With the recent passing of my parents (who lived in California, though I only lived there for three years, and two of those years as a married man not living at home - not to mention the fact that I was very happy to leave California when that opportunity presented itself), I feel even more "unmoored" and adrift in the world. While Madison has become home, largely because we raised our children here and do genuinely love this city, I still get the occasional sharp pangs of wanderlust in me and long to just begin walking and keep on walking until I can walk no more. But where would I walk? Of course, I would explore new places, I can't help myself or my curiosity. But I have a longing, at times, to go back to see the places I have been before, the places I have lived before, with the full knowledge that some of those places, most, really, don't actually exist as I knew them then. The air base I lived at in England is now a British spy base, and I could not go back and see the places where I spent considerable time. The little town in Minnesota where I lived with my grandmother for a year, has grown from about 3,000 residents to over 17,000, The base I lived at in Italy has been essentially demolished and replaced by a city. The base I lived at in the Philippines may still be under volcanic ash, so far as I know. And the military hospital I was born in now bears almost no resemblance to the place my parents knew. But I still want to see these places, at least once. Ligeti, I think, shared some of the same sentiments, if not the same feelings, given the loss of family members to the holocaust, his flight from his homeland, and his itinerant life abroad. Perhaps I am just projecting, but we wanderers tend to understand each other. The feelings of humans displaced (whether voluntarily or not) are complex and often shared in their complexity and intensity, at least that has been my experience in talking with others who have moved frequently, particularly those who have moved to places where their language was not the local tongue, where they were strangers in a strange land.

Paul Griffiths, in his essay "Invented Homelands: Ligeti's Orchestras" captures the connection between these experiences and Ligeti's creative drives perfectly:

The Violin Concerto is the richest of his invented homelands, and may persuade us that feelings of belonging are complex, ambiguous, mutable and probably illusory.

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Monday, December 28, 2015

After the Ice: A Global Human History 20,000-5000 BC

After the Ice: A Global Human History 20,000-5000 BCAfter the Ice: A Global Human History 20,000-5000 BC by Steven Mithen
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Years ago, as an undergraduate at BYU, I was a teaching assistant to Dr. Dale Berge for a semester. Much of my time was spent boiling down textbooks into study notes for students, like an alchemist trying to extract gold from lead. It was a lot like real work. For the life of me, I can't recall the names of the textbooks (that may be a subconsious effort to forget the difficulty of the work), but they were broad world surveys of archaeology that were state-of-the-art at the time (the mid-'90s). I pored over thousands of pages, taking notes and distilling the information down into outline form for an upcoming survey class that Dr. Berge was teaching. To say I learned a lot is an understatement - I was only an anthropology minor, so I didn't have the breadth of knowledge that some of the other T.A.s had. But I knew more than the students in the classes for whom I was preparing the study outlines, so there was that, I suppose.

Previous to that time, I had read Alexander Marshack's outstanding The Roots of Civilization: The Cognitive Beginning of Man's First Art, Symbol and Notation, which covers a time frame that mostly preceded those covered in Mithen's After the Ice: A Global Human History 20,000-5000 BC, though there may be some overlap. Come to think of it, my reading of Marshack's book probably led me to want to minor in Anthropology. That book had a powerful effect on me, thrusting me back into prehistory, while fostering in me an appreciation for the human subjects of all this cool, brain-tickling research.

During the winter break following my T.A. stint with Dr. Berge, I read Marija Gimbutas' Language of the Goddess: Unearthing the Hidden Symbols of Western Civilization, which covers a time period primarily after that covered by Mithen.

So when I first heard of this book, I thought it might be a good survey for filling in those "gap years" between the years covered by Marshack and Gimbutas.

Thankfully, I was right. This is an excellent survey, with a couple of weaknesses. Let me tell you why.

First of all, scope. Mithen does an outstanding job of covering the large-scale geological and atmospheric changes that took place over this rather dynamic, often turbulent, time in the Earth's history. After a long ice age, the weather warmed for a time, then dipped back into a short, but intense, ice age, then gradually warmed up again, this time with further reaching, more long-lasting effects that we see even to this day.

But Mithen isn't content with just painting a large-scale canvas. In order to bring us back down to human scale, he employs two characters with the same name: John Lubbock. The first John Lubbock was a Victorian archaeologist who brought some needed scientific rigor to the archaeological field. The second John Lubbock is a fictional character from our era who travels back in time to observe conditions and, more importantly, to observe the everyday doings of everyday people in the many different societies he visits. Their views are often contrasted to show the advances that archaeologists have made since the early days of archaeology as a science. Often, he does so step by step, showing the progression that has been made over time with new discoveries.

Along the way, as Mithen goes from era to era (from 20,000 to 5000 BC) and continent to continent (covering everything except Antarctica, much to my relief), he shows the "how" of archaeology and much of why certain methods were used, how some earlier (Victorian) assumptions cast a false light on the past, and who were the key figures in gaining said insights.

Sometimes, the simple jettisoning of preconceived notions of what one thinks they ought to find gives a clearer picture of what actually happened. This is the case with the discoveries at Oleneostrovski Mogilnik (Deer Island), where initial data, collected by Soviet archaeologists, was interpreted through the filter of (incorrect) Marxist ideas of prehistoric social structure. Later, when the same data was reinterpreted, a completely different picture of the ancient activities at that site emerged. At other times, the old notion of "the simplest explanation must be the best explanation" had to be abandoned, as happened at Creswell Crags, where earlier archaeologists had taken it for granted that remains found at the same stratum must have been collected there at the same time. Erosion hadn't figured into their equation. As later digs revealed, a single layer of sediment does not necessarily contain items of a single provenance.

Mithen excels at exposing the reader to a number of different archaeological methodologies. In 45 pages, he covers the basic science behind, and provides examples of the use of archeo-zoology, historical genetics, and historical linguistics in reconstructing the past. His presentation of these and many other methods of delving into prehistory are thorough, catching the subtleties of each, without dragging the reader down with too much detail.

The big picture never escapes Mithen, and he does well to present several sides of some controversial issues. For instance, on the question of the disappearance of megafauna such as the mastadon from North America, and whether the cause of their extinction was disease or over-hunting, his answer is . . . neither . . . and both. Mithen argues that the climactic change that occured with the warming of the Earth after the last ice age forced such animals into tight niches that could not sustain them, making them easy prey for hunters and particularly susceptible to disease. He cites several different pieces of evidence for this, not least of which is the very limited use of such animals in ancient North Americans' diets, as evidenced by the multitude of rabbit and fowl bones that show cut marks from butchering, versus the very small number of such bones coming from megafauna. Yes, there is evidence that the use of the clovis point might have been necessary to take down bigger game (though some think that the clovis point was all for show and trade, and not for use as a real weapon) and there is evidence for disease and famine (signs of starvation in megafaunal bones), but his argument, that the changes in habitat precipitated megafaunal populations, allowing them to be in a position to be pushed "over the edge," seems convincing.

So this is the best book on prehistory ever, right? Not so fast. We wouldn't be following Mithen's lead if we just bought this hook, line, and sinker, now would we? After all, Mithen makes it obvious that his "newer" John Lubbock sections are fictional, though they derive from suppositions arising out of the archaeological record. But what if the suppositions are wrong, or at least suspicious?

As an example, Mithen gives a fictional account of John Lubbock's visit to Mesopotamia, particularly the site at Zawi Chemi Shanidar, some time between 11,000 and 9000 BC. Here Lubbock witnesses the ritualized killing of baby goats by people dressed up in costumes that were partially constructed from vulture and eagle wings. It's great fiction: the costumed participants circle a campfire where the goats have been gathered to the rhythmic beating of a skin drum. The goats shiver with fear, then, at the climax of the ritual, the "vultures and eagles" swoop down and wring the goat's next, falling all about, spent from the orgiastic energy of the ritual.

Except it didn't happen. "Maybe it did," you say. I say "prove it".

Mithen's "proof" is that several vulture and eagle wings were buried along with several young goat skulls near a fire. But who's to say that the birds of prey weren't eaten and the dinner guests just didn't like wings? Perhaps the wings were removed for other reasons, as trophies, like a deer head in a man-cave today. And what of the goats? They found skulls, but no clear evidence that they were strangled. That's pure supposition. It's fiction. It makes a great story. But it's just that: a story that Mithen made up. Even he admits, several times throughout the book, that when archaeologists can't find a good reason for some of the strangeness they uncover, the default argument is that the weird assemblages are a result of ritual. It's easy to cite modern instances where religious ritual might have been assumed from the leftover trash and detritus of some very non-religious, non-ritualistic activities. Sometimes, these sorts of things are even faked. Such a thing happened not two miles from where I live.

But let's not throw out the baby with the bathwater. Mithen's After the Ice is as good as it gets, so far as archaeological writing is concerned. If you need evidence of that, just look up a few of the books he references - b-o-r-i-n-g. And his science, for the most part, is sound. And if you, like me, had not read a survey of archaeological discoveries for over twenty years, I invite you to delve into Mithen's book. Because the further we move into the future, the more we know about the past.

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Saturday, November 7, 2015

Gameholecon, Part 2, The Museum at the End of Time

Giddy with anticipation (or was that the tingling of radiation poisoning), I got to the table and was soon joined by the other players including +Julian Bernick and +Scott Swift (note, I apologize in advance for the people I will inevitably miss in my accounts here. Just chew me out and I'll plug you in where you belong if I missed you!). Now while I hadn't gamed with either, I had met Julian many, many years ago, back when the World Fantasy Convention was up in Minneapolis - my first WFC - and now, here I was at a table with him at my first Gameholecon. I'm hoping to make it down to Garycon next spring, which would be my first, as well. Julian Bernick is a trailblazer, and I follow where he goes . . .

Except when he's playing a character with 7 intelligence. For those unfamiliar with Dungeon Crawl Classics (from which +Jim Wampler's Mutant Crawl Classics is derived), you might say "how the heck did he get a character with 7 intelligence"? To which I say: "real men roll stats as Crom intended it. Roll 3d6 and deal with it. Do not reroll ones, do not roll 3 dice. Suck it up, sissy." You want power? Go play Mathfinder. Not that there's anything wrong with that . . .

Now, not to jump too far out of the chronological time stream, but as soon as I posted something about Mutant Crawl Classics on G+ after the session, I was asked when it's going to be released. If I recall correctly, Jim said that it's completed and in Goodman Games' hands, but it has to go through the production queue like anything else (I can tell you all about this - I'm a Production Manager in real life). It's in the queue, but so is a bunch of other cool stuff. You *might* see a kickstarter for MCC this year. Maybe, maybe not.

Don't worry, it's a real thing. Here's proof:


Now, while the elegant judge's screen is jerry-rigged, take a look at those spiral bound books in front of the screen. I believe those were rules booklets. In my giddiness, I never did pick them up and thumb through them. Duh. Lost opportunities. Nothing new to my life. But they are *real*.

For all you Crom haters, you're probably saying "well how do I survive an adventure if I'm not a super human". Truth is: you don't. You die. You may die multiple times. So in the 0-level "funnel" adventures, you are usually given several characters to run at the same time. Here are mine:


Left to right, that's Madson Wisconson (an imaginatively-named Pure Strain Human), Hannah Banana (a mutant banana tree - yes, banana tree - whose full name was "Hannah Hannah Mo Mannah Banana Nana No Nana Fe Fi Fo Fana Banana," though I restrained myself from using it in deference to the constricted time of a con game, and Morelholio, mutant fungi. 


We had six total players, with eighteen characters between us. A wide range of Pure Strain Humans, mutant humans, hybrids, and plants (well, technically, plants and a mushroom). One of our number, ominously named Desslock, led us, encouraging us to go out to the desert to retrieve artifacts that would prove us worthy of the rite of passage. 

Take a quick look again at the picture of the table up above. On it you'll see some rectangular blocks with Jim Wampler's image on them. Yes, that is what he looks like in real life. Anyway, these represented talismans that would tell us when "the glow" was endangering us. All of this is true, except for the part about what Jim looks like in real life. He's a little less cartoony, in actuality. But his image (i.e., the talisman) did show danger, growing dark, as we walked out into the desert. In fact, the radiation was so bad that after bedding down for the night near a rock outcropping, we awoke . . . well, not everyone awoke, let's put it that way. Among the dead was Desslock, who we then renamed "Deathlock" (you had to see that coming . . . it was almost inevitable). 

The next night, we bedded down at another rock outcrop, assured that those remaining were strong enough to survive the night. But in the middle of the night, the watch, who was atop the rock outcropping, spotted a strange sight - a group of dozens of ancients, or at least humans dressed as ancients, wandering around in circles in the desert night. We tried, in vain, to hail them. Then one of our mutants ("Fuzzy" was his name, I think, for the fur that he grew) was able to talk to one of these strange, glowing, semi-translucent ancients. She whispered to him . . . and he went mad, becoming, suddenly, very stupid, and going on and on about how "nothing is real. I'm not real. You're not real. There's no point in anything," and so forth. A truly existential mutant. This made for some . . . uh . . . fun(?) as the rest of the party . . . um . . . helped him, yes, helped Fuzzy to do . . . things . . . for the party.

A side note: though it is hoped that characters hold a profound respect for sentience, the idea of alignment is only applicable insofar as one is aligned with a certain social or ideological group. As Jim put it: "After the apocalypse, 'law,' 'chaos,' and 'neutrality' have little meaning". I rather liked this, as it seemed to feel right for the mood of the game.

And it let us push Fuzzy to near death several times helped us as we best considered how to let Fuzzy contribute to the party's success in his state.

In time, these ghosts of the ancients faded and we spotted a structure off in the distance, something different than the occasional rock outcroppings we had seen so far. We investigated.

Lo, we beheld a building of the ancients. Of course, we entered . . . which accounts for the next casualty as one of the party blindly walked in and plummeted to his death. Yeah, you might want to look before you walk into a dark doorway. Sigh.

So we explored more carefully, lowering one of Scott's characters (help me here, Scott, what was the name?) down on a rope, only to hurriedly pull him back up after hearing his frantic screaming. He had seen an immense creature in the pit below, something gigantic and hideous that seemed to match a very, very large tooth that Mach the human had found earlier in the desert. Eventually, Mach himself, Mach the Mighty, Mach the Fearless, Mach the (insert testosterone-infused bravado here), discovered that the monster was all bones. With instruction from Hannah Banana, Mach broke off one of the ribs of the creature and sent it up to be used as a tie-off point for the rope, spanning the breadth of the doorway at the top of the pit.

As you might be able to tell, this game was all about using available resources, as all old-school gaming should be. You won't find much tech just laying around in MCC, though we did get lucky enough to have a couple of pieces (one had an earbud that occasional spoke, while Hannah Banana had a "bug caller" that buzzed when he pushed a button, though it never succesfuly talked to bugs during this adventure). You just have to make do with what you've got or do without. This tends to push creativity and roleplaying, which is the heart of the game. You want to argue rules, go play scrabble. Not that there's anything wrong with that . . .

The exploration of the inside of the structure began in earnest. Yttrium, our hook-handed mutant, found a dessicated corpse dressed in the clothing of the ancients. When he removed the clothing, a couple of other artifacts tumbled out, including a device that shot a pink ray (a "Dazer Gun") that accidentally put one of our party members to sleep and something that was promptly broken by the party member who was trying to make it work. There is a good chance, when your character tries to figure out a device of the ancients, that he or she or whatever will not understand the function of the device and stands a pretty good chance of breaking it. Those who are old enough will recall the overly-complicated artifact chart from Gamma World, which was used to determine if a character could get ancient technology to work without killing himself or others in the process. MCC has such a chart, less complicated, though no less nasty. Careful what you do with shiny things . . .

In time, the party tried to make its way through the doors that were embedded in the museum's walls. At one point, they were met by a very helpful hologram and his two very helpful pieces of Smart Metal, who pleasantly informed us that the museum was closed and that we must leave. After conversing with the hologram, it became more insistent that we leave and even let us know that the "security bots" would help us out, if it became necessary. This was not construed as helpful. But since the Smart Metal had "insect-like" legs, Hannah thought it would be a good idea to try to communicate with one of them using the Bug Caller. He approached one of these "security bots" with the Bug Caller buzzing, and it attacked.

So we attacked back. Yttrium got a very lucky stab on one of the bots, opening it up and causing sparks to fly. Though still functional, it was wounded quite badly. The hologram produced some kind of technologically-enhance flail, but he couldn't seem to hit anything with it (Note: You may have heard Jim talk about how unlucky he is with his dice rolls - I'm here to tell you: he ain't lying). And though the Smart Metal zapped a couple of our party with pink rays, we were ultimately able to prevail and go through - and I mean this quite literally, as Mach ran right through the hologram - to the hallway beyond the door.

After a little more investigating, we found a room that contained several small cabinets. In each one was a device that looked like some sort of belt and some sort of helmet. After a near-fatal donning of the helmet by one party member, we eventually figured out the function of these devices - a force-field-generating belt and a helmet that prevented you from suffocating from the lack of air within the forcefield (something I had never thought about before, incidentally).

Moving forward, we found a semi-circular room filled to the brim with ancient tech. I won't spoil everything, as I'm sure certain elements of this adventure, or maybe the adventure itself, will be published in due time, but suffice it to say that Madson Wisconson figured out how to use a certain device, though he had little control over its exact effects, which resulted in Morelholio being transfigured from a fungus into a strange, stunted bird with sharp teeth and de-evolved the party's mutated Conifer Yew. Mach also underwent a change due to the strange device, developing something akin to a turtle shell on his torso and back (which elicited the best comment of the session from Drew: "He's a Mach turtle!").

The party, or what was left of it, made its way back to the village and the elders of the village informed us that our party would now serve as a scout party for the village, carrying out missions at their request.

For the record, Fuzzy survived. As did all three of my characters. Honestly, I felt a tiny twinge of disappointment that all of my guys survived. But you know what, I grew attached to them. Hannah Banana was probably my favorite because . . . well, because he was a freaking mutated banana tree, that's why! Madson Wisconson proved to be the most adept at manipulating tech (which, if you know the city that I love and live in, makes a lot of sense). And Morelholio . . . well, how much more freaky can you get than a mutant fungi who becomes an archaeopteryx? That's just over the top cool.

Besides, there was plenty of dying waiting for me later in the day. Plenty. Oh, so much dying. Mister Wampler wasn't done with me yet. But more on that later.

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Thursday, October 15, 2015

The Sword, Kadavar, All Them Witches at Majestic Theatre Madison 10.14.2015

While the Old Ones of the Metal Gods go to sleep one-by-one, a new pantheon emerges from infancy to an apotheosis in which they take their rightful place above the altar of the stage where their adherents bow in headbanging worship to the holy oracles of the amplifiers.

I made the pilgrimage last night, along with my adult daughter, to the temple known as Majestic Madison to become enlightened.

First up was All Them Witches, a band, to be honest, that I was not anticipating too much. I had listened to some of their stuff, but their blues-ridden stoner metal never quite resonated with me, for some reason. But a band in a studio and a band heard live can be two different animals, and this was the case here. ATW was a bit more restrained and staid than the other acts I was going to hear that night - they were downright slow, in fact - but they served as a great warmup act. They had their head-bobbing moments, as well. Obviously a musically talented band, their lead singer/bass player had great charisma and connected well with the crowd. Their style was reminiscent of early Led Zeppelin with some heavier interludes. I kept expecting them to break into T-bone Walker Blues at any moment. While my least favorite act of the night, they were still very good. I wouldn't go to see them as a headliner, but I would be glad to know that they were an opener at any metal concert I attended.


Next was a band that I was more excited to see, having been turned on to their hard-driving, hair-flailing metal at an earlier date. Kadavar, from Berlin, Germany, took the stage like three visigothic heroes, promising, and delivering, victims for Valhalla. They began by rip-roaring into "Lord of the Sky," presaging much headbanging to come. Things got really heavy when Kadavar tore into "Doomsday Machine" at a volume somewhere at 11+. Christoph "Lupus" Lindemann's high, scorpionesque vocals cut through the wall-of-sound bass licks of Simon "Dragon" Bouteloup and the frenetic drumming of Christoph "Tiger" Bartelt in a tone I can only relate as "Heavy Balance". This worked well for both straight ahead rockers like "Thousand Miles Away from Home" and more complex pieces like "Black Sun". Kadavar ended by tapping deep into their '70s metal roots with "Come Back Life," putting an exclamation point on an excellent set.

And the award for "Drummer that looks and drums most like the Muppets' Animal" goes to Christoph Bartelt, who I thought would tear a rotator cuff, dislocate a shoulder, or worse with his flailing drumming style. My daughter commented that "he's always in control, but he looks like he's out of control". I would not have been surprised to see his arms fly off into the crowd. The guy is nuts - and a great drummer. So much hair. So much energy. So much ANIMAL!!!

Also, their concert shirts were the best, but I'm saving up my money for Gamehole next month!


While the smokers were out doing there thing, my daughter and I went down closer, into the crowd on the floor in front of the stage. Ha, ha! Smokers suck! And we got your spots! (sorry, but I'm a rabid ex- and anti-smoker. As Bruce Dickinson says "stupid habit").

It seemed like forever that the roadies were getting things ready, but finally, The Sword took the stage. I was pleased that they started off with two of my favorites: "Tres Brujas" followed by "The Dreamthieves" (incidentally, I am *just* off to the right of the screen in this video, a few people up from the camera, but I think you only get a glimpse of a sliver of me there. I don't know who took the video, but they were standing not far behind me and to my left.). I had tweeted the band about playing these two songs at the show, so I'd like to think I had some influence there. Probably not, but hey, it was a nice coincidence, anyway.

Now, the thing about The Sword is that, as polished as they sound on their records, they are RAW live. Raw, not ragged or sloppy. To the contrary, they are one of the tightest bands I've ever seen. Their timing is absolutely impecable. As an example of what I'm talking about, "The Dreamthieves" sounds, on the studio version, like it could have appeared on the more mellow side of the Heavy Metal soundtrack. But live - geeze, I think I saw peoples' faces melting! They pulled out all the nice production, turned up the distortion, and blatantly exposed the crowd to a raw radioactive core of pure metal energy. In fact, all of the songs from their most recent album, High Country, were much heavier than the studio versions. Seeing that some have complained about The Sword's psychedelic turn on this album, I can only surmise that those who griped about High Country haven't yet seen the songs performed live. Go see the show - it will make you a believer. Have no fear, The Sword are as hard as ever!

Nowhere is this more evident than on the live performance of "The Bees of Spring," which starts out as a pretty standard blues-riff, ZZ-Top-ish song with not a lot of meat to it. But live . . . something else happened. The song started out, frankly, flat. It was during this song that I took my first few pictures of the band. But I soon had to put my phone away as they pulled out all the stops in what became one of my favorite songs of the evening and one that got the crowd hopping more than any other outside of . . .

"Cloak of Feathers" will, I think, become anthemic and is likely to be the song for which The Sword will be known for decades. And I think the band knows that they've struck gold with this one. Guitarist Kyle Shutt, who had been playing with great energy all night, ratched it up three gears on this one! The crowd went wild. Whereas there was plenty of rocking going on down on the floor where we were all show long, the place just sort of exploded in the balconies and up the back of the venue by the bar. I'm guessing the bartenders had to fight to keep the bottles from coming off the shelves. Such energy! Wow! This was followed by an encore of "Eyes of the Stormwitch". A great nightcap to a great night of music!





Needless to say, I took the next day off of work. Not because I'm hung over - I don't drink - but because I knew I would be half deaf and tired as a dog the next day. But, hey, knowing it's going to take two days to get your hearing back means it was a great concert, right? Right? WHAT?!?

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Monday, May 11, 2015

Rhinoceros

RhinocérosRhinocéros by Eugène Ionesco
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

A libertarian manifesto, of sorts; not in the strictly political sense, or in the philosophical sense of free will versus determinism, but in the broader sense of one who values personal liberty and freedom above all else in or out of the political arena. I just saw a fantastic rendering of this play put on by the theater troupe at the high school where my wife teaches. I wasn't certain that they could pull off a play that demands such a high level of skill from its actors and director, but they did it, and they did it well. The lead actor, playing the part of Berenger, brilliantly portrayed the transformation of Berenger from a waffling, unsure drunk to the morally certain, but crushingly alone last-man-standing, after the inhabitants of his town slowly choose to turn into rhinoceroses.

Afterwards, having been near the edges of the audience and having had one of the "rhinoceroses" brush up against me (they wander around among the audience for much of the play), I remarked to my wife that I felt like the absurdist (and strongly existentialist) play was a sort of audience-participation episode of the Twilight Zone. And since TZ is my favorite television show of all time, that was the highest compliment I could give it. Reading the play may not lend the same intensity, as this was written "for the stage, not for the page" (as my daughter so frequently characterized Shakespeare when she was a child). But the blueprint is there, and a well-directed group of actors can really plunge the audience into the middle of the angst.

The central theme running throughout is that of individualism versus conformity. Though the play is frequently cited as being "anti-Nazi," Ionesco says:

"Rhinoceros is certainly an anti-Nazi play, yet it is also and mainly an attack on collective hysteria and the epidemics that lurk beneath the surface of reason and ideas but are none the less serious collective diseases passed off as ideologies."

The play runs far deeper than a simple invective against one group. Rather, it questions *all* groups and the human need to belong vis-a-vis the need for human individuation. Ionesco is careful to make Berenger a complex character, who struggles with the decision of whether or not to become a rhinoceros, thus avoiding a pedantic forcing of the audience to hate the rhinoceroses. This is not a propaganda piece that ignores the psychological subtleties behind such a difficult choice. The situations portrayed pull forth feelings of tolerance, possibly even sympathy, for those who succumb to the allure of the crowd. One must ask, "what would I do in this situation, given all that is presented to me?" The question of who the rhinoceroses are is completely irrelevant:

People always wish me to spell out whether I mean the rhinos to be fascists or communists. Rhinoceritis is not an illness of the Right or the Left: it cannot be contained within geo-political borders. Nor is it characteristic of a social class. It is the malady of conformity which knows no bounds, no boundaries.

There are no easy answers: Tolerate the crowd, accept them, become one of them and accept their sociality, or resist them, become intolerant, and remain staunchly individual, and alone?

Before you answer, think about it. Read or see this play, then think about it. This isn't a decision you'll want to make in haste.

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Monday, March 16, 2015

Kronos Quartet, 3.14.15, Shannon Hall, Wisconsin Union Theater

I first encountered Kronos Quartet back in 1993. They had released their CD "Pieces of Africa," a collection of compositions by African composers, the previous year. I believe I was listening to a radio program on Utah Public Radio while doing a stint as "security" (cough, cough) for BYU when I heard one of these pieces. I don't remember the exact place or moment, but I do remember being blown away that a string quartet would tackle such an odd, beautiful (and, I admit, the word "exotic" came to mind) set of compositions. This was in the days when the internet (TM) was barely a fertilized fetus, so information on the group was hard to come by. Thankfully, I found the album at the BYU bookstore. I bought the cassette (yes, there were still cassette players then) and listened to the whole thing. It was, musically speaking, a life changer.

As a teenager, I had widely-varying tastes. Punk, new wave, classical, heavy metal, celtic, funk, just about anything but rap and country. But my classical exposure was limited to the standards: Mozart, Beethoven, Bach. Dvorak was about as wild and exotic that I had gotten. Or maybe Holst. I loved "The Planets" suite (and still do). So I had been exposed to a fair breadth of music as I was growing up.

But I had never heard anything quite like this.

It was classical music, a quartet, no less, two violins, a viola, and a cello. But it was so metal, so punk. But . . . not. It was unique, and I had a visceral reaction to it. Unfortunately, their music was hard to come by back then, or I just didn't really know where to look for it. Fast forward to 1997, when I was a graduate student at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. I remember one day spending several hours in the graduate school library - actually, I remember many days like that - and finding myself in the music listening library (I probably should have been studying something else). There, lo and behold, was a new album that I didn't know was coming out, with the deceptively benign title "Early Music". I listened to it, and, at that point, I can say I was legitimately hooked to Kronos Quartet. I had developed a taste for medieval and baroque music in the meantime, and this album hit that sweet spot, as well as expanding my tastes a bit to such composers as John Cage, Henry Purcell, and Arvo Part. I had listened to a piece or two by Cage and Purcell as an undergraduate Humanities major, but had never heard Part before. So I sought out more of his music and encountered some other names, along the way: Schnittke, Ligetti, Gorecki, and others. I had listened to and loved Penderecki's "Threnody for the Victims of Hiroshima" as an undergrad, but it was through Kronos that the world of modern minimalism and atonal music really opened up for me. I started digging into their backlist, and tracking their new releases, occasionally buying a CD: "Salome Dances for Peace," "Black Angels," "Requiem for Adam"; and listening to others from the library. I saw that Kronos toured fairly frequently, but being a poor graduate student, then a poor post-MA worker (in the "real" world, outside of academia), my finances never seemed to match the calendar.

Now that I'm a little more well-established, I've been looking for an opportunity to see them in concert, and this past Saturday was the first time when schedules and finances converged so I could do so. And I don't want to sound like an ungrateful slob - Hank Dutt, the viola player for Kronos, came to Madison a few years back and performed a free concert that my daughter (then a viola student) and I attended. It was spectacular. If anyone has access to the recordings of that performance . . . I'm willing to pay . . .

So imagine the anticipation this past week as my wife and I had decided to go to the concert. I had seen some (most of them illegally recorded) live performances on youtube, but watching a performance on youtube and seeing a live performance in the flesh is just not the same thing. I went with high expectations.

And they were met!

The set was spartan: four chairs and easels on a bare stage. A black curtain hung behind them, lit from underneath by colored lights, with the occasional design sprayed up onto the curtain - abstract, nothing too representational, nothing symbolic. The focus was on the music, not the visuals.

The first piece was "Good Medicine" from Salome Dances for Peace, composed by Terry Riley. This is the trademark sort of Kronos piece, full of odd measures, frequently changing time signatures, atonality, and virtuoso playing on all four instruments. The title belies the dark tenor of the music, something that I truly like about their work. This is an angular piece, but philosophical in an existential way.

Next was Laurie Anderson's "Flow". This was my wife's favorite piece of the night, and one of the most enjoyable for me, as well. An ethereal, beautiful piece that, well, flowed from the various instruments like some kind of musical nectar. It was soothing, but not narcotic, a piece that simultaneously comforted the soul and grabbed your mind's attention by the shirt collar.

Komitas' "Groung" and Vladimir Martynov's "The Beatitudes" followed. Both wonderful pieces that led to one of the most exceptional pieces of the night, Mary Kouyoumdjian's "Bombs of Beirut".

"Bombs" began with narratives by people who had lived through Lebanon's civil war, some of them waxing nostalgic about what Beirut was before the war, others recounting events during the war, and yet others bemoaning the loss of the city's soul after the war. These narratives continued throughout the piece, with the composition ranging from bizarre atonality to a beautiful Lebanese dance piece, and then descending into stark screeches and howls that portrayed the hell-on-earth that was Lebanon during the civil war. The piece ended with a recording of actual bombings within the city that crescendoed so loudly that I had to wonder if people outside of the theater didn't think that an act of terror was occurring between the walls. The theater went dark, and silence took over. It took a while for the audience to realize that the piece was actually over - shell shock had taken hold of us, if only temporarily.

After an intermission, things lightened up significantly. "Elvis Everywhere," a whimsical piece played over the voices of several Elvis impersonators, opened the second half. "Last Kind Words," composed by Geeshie Wiley, was next. This was originally written as a piece that was used to sell cabinet record players built in Wisconsin (!) back in the 1930s. Of course, Kronos wouldn't be Kronos if they didn't do something that shattered genre conventions, so they played their arrangement of Jelly Roll Morton's "Dead Man Blues". Charles Mingus beautiful and profound "Children's Hour of Dream" was next, with Dan Becker's "Carrying the Past," a piece inspired by the composer's finding a 78 rpm recording of his grandfather's band that had been discovered by the family.

That was supposed to be the end of the concert, but after the house-shaking applause, they played not one, not two, not three, but four encores. I honestly don't recall what they all were, though one was "A Thousand Thoughts" and one was, I believe, from "Pieces of Africa," that recording that first drew me in to the Kronos Quartet's music.

I've not done the evening justice. If I were to try to really explain the emotional and intellectual depth of the music, I would never finish my next novel. Words really cannot relate the beauty of the music. You need to go listen to it yourself, so do what you must to hear the Kronos Quartet live. In lieu of that, give a listen to their recordings, but prepare for a long journey!

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