Conservative logic is a comprehensive model of computation which explicitly reflects a number of fundamental principles of physics…
Edward Fredkin and Tommaso Toffoli, Conservative Logic p. 1
Axioms for computation that are based on noninvertible primitives can only reflect aspects of macroscopic physics. While they offer enough expressive power for dealing in a formal way with what can eventually be computed by any physical means, they may deprive us of essential tools for discussing how best to compute in particular, whether and how the kT barrier can be overcome-since many relevant aspects of microscopic physics are totally out of their reach. To remedy these eficiencies, the axioms of computation must be told some of the “facts of life” of the microscopic world. This is one of the goals of conservative logic.
Edward Fredkin and Tommaso Toffoli, Conservative Logic p. 3
Via the LtU Inspiring papers thread comes Fredkin and Toffoli’s 2001 paper: Conservative Logic [PDF] (local cache since I couldn’t find an official site with a download; thanks to Strange Paths for having a copy of the PDF). The paper 1) presents a model of computation based on physics-inspired axioms, 2) demonstrates that the model is computationally universal and then 3) gives an example implemented using billiard balls. Well, technically perfectly elastic collisions of spherical bodies constrained to a 2-dimensional plane, but still fun.
It reminded me of Neil Gershenfeld’s Programming Bits and Atoms talk. Specifically both changed my concepts of computation: Gershenfeld shows a bunch of examples of asynchronous logic automata (sorry for the crap link to a google index, I haven’t read enough to find a good reference; let me know if you find one) and also demonstrates physical logic gates built from plastic tubing and air bubbles. Given that Toffoli was cranking out papers in the late 70’s, I wouldn’t be surprised if Gershenfeld draws from his work.
Beyond the cool factor, both works have practical outcomes. Gershenfeld shows proof of concepts like the “paintable computer”: a computational surface that runs a Postscript interpreter. He also demonstrates a(nother) linear-time sorting algorithm that depends on the ALA property that transmission is also storage (cells store values, transmission is merely the passing of values down a chain of cells). Fredkin and Toffoli make no such claims, but since a primitive of Conservative Logic is the unit wire–an element that both stores and transmits a value–the same should hold.
Fredkin and Toffoli’s emphasis on conservative physics principles leads to another huge benefit: “The central result of conservative logic is that it is ideally possible to build sequential circuits with zero internal power dissipation.” Nice.
But, really, my interest is in the combination of computer nerdery with physics nerdery (I spent years doing integrals studying physics). This is the stuff inspires me when I feel like a programming career is nothing more than CRUD web interfaces; you might even say reading these papers prevents my architecture from sucking.
In a similar vein, I recommend The Feynman Lectures on Computation and Scott Aaronson’s blog. Aaronson’s blog is a cornucopia of technical things I don’t fully understand, including one of my favorite blog posts of 2008: Time: Different from space.
]]>The obvious thing almost works:
>>> class MyClass(object): foo = lambda self: "Foo" ... >>> myobj = MyClass() >>> hasattr(myobj, 'bar') False >>> myobj.bar = lambda self: "Bar" >>> hasattr(myobj, 'bar') True >>> myobj.bar() Traceback (most recent call last): File "<stdin>", line 1, in <module> TypeError: <lambda>() takes exactly 1 argument (0 given)
Here’s the problem:
>>> type(myobj.foo) <type 'instancemethod'> >>> type(myobj.bar) <type 'function'>
Our dynamically added bar is a regular function so the self-injection magic isn’t happening.
It turns out that the magic is actually just descriptors. As Bruno Desthuilliers points out you can manually activate the descriptor machinery:
>>> myobj.bar = (lambda self: "Bar").__get__(myobj) >>> type(myobj.bar) <type 'instancemethod'> >>> myobj.bar() 'Bar'
For those who are more semantically inclined, you could instead use the (deprecated) new module:
>>> from new import instancemethod >>> myobj2 = MyClass() >>> myobj2.bar = instancemethod(lambda self: "Bar", myobj2) >>> myobj2.bar() 'Bar'
And if you want your semantics without the deprecation, use types:
>>> from types import MethodType >>> myobj3 = MyClass() >>> myobj3.bar = MethodType(lambda self: "Bar", myobj3) >>> myobj3.bar() 'Bar']]>
And it was going to be about El-P until I came home and found a DJ History forum post with a 3 hour Lee Douglas / Lovefingers mix:
Lee Douglas & Lovefingers - A Night In Babylon (Live in Istanbul) (hosted, it seemed rude to hotlink a 280 meg mp3)
Well damn that’s a good mix (needle jumps & flanging be damned), but it was the Smith N Hack remix that diddled me good:
Herbert - Moving Like a Train (Smith N Hack Remix) (buy)
Like a train indeed.
]]>Sleeparchive - Meson (buy at Forced Exposure or hardwax for the Europeans)
Hardwax’s description is itself cold German minimalism: “Hypnotic bleeping techno + 6 loops”. Let’s make that a little more Japanese:
The Hadron EP:
Hypnotic bleeping techno
(plus six white-noise loops)
I’m impressed by the crisp subtlety, especially the bass. For a song that’s 50% synthetic kick (the rest is high-hat, “whirr” white noise, “woo-woo-wooo” space noise, and “incessant bleep”) it doesn’t come off as a bass track. Yet the subwoofer… it is working so hard. Makes me wonder how it would sound on something more powerful than my 10″ sub.
I suspect the effect is because Sleeparchive trims his samples, shoving everything into the low end. Let’s check Audacity’s spectrum view:
Capcom - A Prayer for Kevin Garnett (Willy Joy’s Safe Journeys Remix)
Sleeparchive - Meson
Ralph Stanley: subtle human, Sleeparchive: subtle machine, Capcom: unholy train wreck.
According to nxtplanet’s comment [Youtube] Sleeparchive and Surgeon are both big geeks. Let’s see…
Sleeparchive:
Surgeon:
Sleeparchive’s got a bit of the geek going on. Surgeon just looks like a Hitler Youth.
For some much less subtle bass, check out Rinse FM’s I Love Dubstep double mix CD (get at Amazon, Turntable Lab or Forced Exposure). It’s every major dubstep track from the last few years. Mixed, of course, so afficianados can still proudly display their imported vinyl.
Also on double CD is the new (and apparently last) Skull Disco release. It’s a bunch of their latest vinyl EP’s and some remixes. Skull Disco has always been good at conceptual integrity: dark, morbid tunes. Very dark. Very morbid. Yay!
Shackleton - Death Is Not Final (buy direct, from the lab or from Forced Exposure)
Keeping with a theme:
If you want more music for no more $$$, check their free mixtape.
If it was more lenient, maybe we’d have a chance to get this album for less than $30: Carl Craig & Moritz von Oswald - ReComposed (also at Amazon and the lab).
I’m listening to it now and it’s amazing. There’s nothing to really share though, it unfolds pretty smoothly over an hour, and an excerpt would be much less than the sum. So instead here’s Carl Craig remixing Rhythm & Sound (Moritz von Oswald and Mark Ernestus).
Rhythm & Sound - Poor People Must Work (Carl Craig Remix) (buy)
After years of prodding, I finally rode the Punk Bike Enduro. I was going to try to gather some of the many write-up/photo/video links, luckily awesome guy Rob (though I also sometimes call him 90’s Rob on account of his living colour t-shirts) already did: 2008 punk bike enduro. (He also produced the above photographic proof).
…your moment of bike zen:
Schlagercocktail - Folge II side A
Schlagercocktail - Folge II side B
German pop covers on 10″ vinyl. Each side has like a dozen tracks, and they’re all smushed together, mix tape style. Anyone have Folge I?
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Sandtarts: a Gingrich family tradition. Also a test of rolling feats. Grandma can get them down to gold leaf dimensions, I’m not that good, but am within tolerance.
Well you’re my friend
(It’s what you told me anyway)
And can you see
(What’s inside of me anyway)
Many times we’ve been out drinking
And many times we’ve shared our thoughts
But did you ever, ever notice
The kind of thoughts I got
Well you know I have a love
A love for everyone I know
And you know I have a drive
To live I won’t let go
But can you see it’s opposition
Comes rising up sometimes
That it’s dreadful and position
Comes blacking in my mind
And that I see a darkness
And that I see a darkness
And that I see a darkness
And that I see a darkness
And did you know how much I love you
Is a hope that somehow you
Can save me from this darkness
Well I hope that someday, buddy
We have peace in our lives
Together or apart
Alone or with our wives
That we can stop our whoring
And pull the smiles inside
And light it up forever
And never go to sleep
My best unbeaten brother
This isn’t all I see
Oh no I see a darkness
Oh no I see a darkness
Oh no I see a darkness
Oh no I see a darkness
Did you know how much I love you
Is a hope that somehow you you
Can save me from this darkness
Bonnie Prince Billy, I See A Darkness
The best song about depression, ever:
Bonnie Prince Billy - I See a Darkness (buy)
The second best song about depression, ever:
]]>Capcom - A Prayer for Kevin Garnett (Willy Joy’s Safe Journeys Remix) (buy)
Fly By Night is the name of Willy Joy’s label & party. If you like your music mindless and electrobasstastic, follow the link for lots of free mixtapes.
Speaking of video games, check out the B-side of Spacer Woman from Mars:
Johan Agebjorn - Mega Man II (buy)
Agebjörn produced Sally Shapiro’s album. I bought that on vinyl, partly because it seemed like it would never be released in any other format but also because it was on the Diskokaine label, which I think is even funnier than Discodeine.
And if you’d rather trade in 8-bit NES samples for acoustic synths, try Daniel Wang’s Idealism. Berlin Sunrise sold me on slow disco and prompted me to search for more Wang (hee hee). Unfortunately even used CD’s were going for $20. So thank you, Fraunhofer Institute.
Daniel Wang - Glimmer In His Eyes (buy)
Glimmer In His Eyes isn’t the most obvious track–it’s especially mellow–but it exhibits another great part of Idealism: theremin.
]]>I do.
]]>In the book, Stewart Brand–of Whole Earth Catalog fame–looks at the evolution of buildings, a subject he claims is sorely under-researched. He first establishes his framework, the six S’s: site, structure, skin, services, space Plan, and stuff; and then outlines the major archetypes of buildings: high-road (cathedral), low-road (warehouse), and hollow-souled sell-out architectural-digest pornography (most everything else, incidentally it was the high-road/low-road distinction that Burka used in his talk), Next he descends into detail. Finally he provides some hints for designing for change. And then, for emphasis, he re-states everything in the appendix and ends with a final plea for everyone to start paying attention to how things change in the long term, damnit.
Like anyone who’s learned software patterns, I know of the Christopher Alexander classic. But I put it off in favor of reading books about, well, software. How Buildings Learn frequently references Alexander’s works. It also shares a lot with software design: Brand advocates less up-front design, direct client involvement, choosing processes and artifacts that provide feedback and “short” iterations with rapid deliverables–basically Agile. (He also advocates spending time & money on a solid foundation and “documentation”: he lauds John Abrams “as-built” photo documentation. These could be interpreted as “anti-agile”, but as James Shore points out agile is no excuse for irresponsibility.) Unlike books on Agile software, How Buildings Learn benefits from being about something tangible: buildings. I spent my freshmen year in the University of Pittsburgh’s Litchfield Towers (picture above) and I currently work in a new office building that has the perfect triumvirate of leaky roof, non-function HVAC and architectural awards. It was easy to understand Brand’s examples. It took me much longer to actually understand–not just parrot–Agile. Such is the power of metaphor.
So recommended. Even if you’re not a programmer.
]]>Thanks to ZZK’s mixtapes! My picks are the Diploesque Villa Diamante mix and the laid-back Chancha Via Curcuito album mixtape. Makes me think I should pony up the $17.98 and move both the ZZK compilation and the Rodante album from my wishlist to my hard drive.
Speaking of Diplo, the Benzi/Diplo collabo mixtape is out: Fear and Loathing in Hunts Vegas. It’s the Radiohead / Saul Williams pricing model, so pay what you want. I took advantage of my 20% raise–I went back to full-time employment–and gave a generous $8.
As I get older I have more musical patience. Songs that don’t go anywhere are tolerable; some of them (like the mighty mighty deathprod) are awesome. So it is with Gas’ complete discography (strangely cheapest when bought as mp3’s through a British site). The music sneaks up on you, so take your time with Boomkat’s full-length samples.
Speaking of history, travel back to 1999 and get Mos Def’s Black on Both Sides for $2!
Did you hear me? TWO DOLLARS!!! Wow!
]]>
Let’s hope that’s not a portent.
After 4km of forest trail, I headed out to the shelf at kilometer 66. From there it’s only 1.5 km to Owen Pt, though between avoiding soaking my shoes in tidal pools and drowning in huge surge channels, I walked about 2.5. But other than rocks slick with invisible algae, it’s an easy walk. It’s also beautiful, in a post apocalyptic sort of way. I present the following two examples of the beach:
And this one looking back into the woods, which is more “post-apocalypse by Tolkein:”
I reached Owen’s Pt. sometime before 10:14 am, which, according to the tide table was the only time it was passable. The tide table was half right: it was passable if didn’t mind walking through ankle deep ocean water. Instead I peeked over the edge into the eroded-cavern-thing. It was… drumroll… anti-climactic. Maybe it’s nicer if you jump down and marvel. Instead I took advantage of the overland route someone had made out of well knotted nylon rope. On the other side of the point the shelf became soft sand. Just as I was cursing sand walking, it turned into rocks.
Rocks rocks rocks. Big rocks, small rocks. But pretty much all sharp rocks. Definitely too much for my aged New Balances and probably the most painful part of the hike.
3.5 km later the rocks became a beach. There were 4 men waving madly at the ocean. “How much further to Thrasher?” I asked. “This is Thrasher” the Bamfield Coast Guard hat-wearing guy answered. With that out of the way, I talked to them and found out that two of them were guides and the other two were French film-makers. They were worried about missing the 5pm ferry and consequently the frenchmen’s 5am flight the next day. They were trying to signal the ferry-man for an early pick-up. I tried my cell phone but got no signal. Finally they picked up their 40 kilo packs–no exaggeration, they had some big damn cameras–and started up the ladders to the main trail.
I took advantage of the peace and tranquility to relax.
Something must have worked because when I came out the world was unbelievably beautiful:
The sunshine was a good excuse to take off my shoes and eat some macadamia nuts.
20 minutes later, I started up the ladders. Monique had warned me that it was “an hour of ladders” She was wrong, but it was a climb. And after the ladders came a series of extremely steep switchbacks to get back to the main trail. The trail itself was all ups and down, it included the highest point in the entire trail and, unsurprisingly, ended at sea level. I wasn’t surprised when it only took a kilometer to catch the filmmakers; my pack was only 8 kilos.
4 kilometers later I hiked down to the shore and hoisted the orange buoy. The ferry driver showed up in a few minutes. He said it’s can be a beautiful trail but “Some people hike it in 4 days, that’s just stupid!” Since I had just finished in 4 days, I chose to interpret him as saying “You should enjoy what the trail has to offer.” I agree.
It was only a 5 minute ferry ride across the mouth of the river and then a 100 meter walk to the camp office. While I was walking towards the office a bitchin’ Camero pulled up and out stepped–if I remember his name correctly–Glen: a tall, tribal fellow. He also had a bleached mohawk and was wearing knee-high waders. He had seen be get off the trail and asked about the filmmakers. He had been working at the Nitinat ferry and had hiked out, Sherpa-ing some dead batteries for the filmmaker’s in the process. I told him they were a few kilometers behind me and he headed into the warden’s office.
I followed and gave the warden my registration info so she’d know I wasn’t dead in a surge channel or eaten by wolves. She also gave me some information on the Juan de Fuca trail and the local town. I sat down and in a head-cold haze tried to put everything together: I could camp in town that night then start hiking the next morning… but I had to get to an accessible trail head by Wednesday, since that was the last day the trail bus ran… so I’d have to figure out where I’d get out and call ahead and make a reservation… but I still needed to refill my water and maybe get a little more food… or maybe I should wait and see if I could get a ride with Team Awesome, they were talking about driving back to Victoria…
Chris and Fabian saved me. While I was blindly staring at the Port Renfrew map a tall red-headed German man (Chris) and a short blond Swiss woman (Fabian) walked up. The man said they were headed back to Victoria by way of Cowichan Lake and they’d be happy to give me a ride. “Happy” seemed a bit optimistic, since I smelled terrible, but I accepted.
They were both students at an English language school in Victoria. Chris had just bought the car from his host family so they went for a weekend trip. They had camped in Port Renfrew the night before; it involved rain, a crazy man, and dual nightmares about a firing squad and being in a tent on fire. They still seemed pretty pleased, I assume because there was some hot make-out action they had elided.
We stopped at Lake Cowichan to eat some of their left-over food. Chris used his well engineered German stove to boil water for their tea and coffee. It was cold so Fabian put on the most awesome vest ever: it was shearling and had “Hoochie” written on the front in gold script. I then noticed that Chris was wearing FUBU cargo pants. I wonder if he knows that he’s not the Us they’re referring to?
Then it was just a short drive back through the surprisingly sprawling suburbs of Victoria to the Turtle. I insisted Chris and Fabian take 20 CDN.
Inside, Sue set me up with a room. Then we talked for 20 minutes: turns out she used to be a programmer in China. This set off a string of complaints about the stress of programming, which is why now she owns a hostel. Perhaps that’s what I should do with my life?
It was dark by the time I’d showered and settled. I headed out for comfort food and settled on over-priced mediocre pizza. I watched drunk Victorian college students and felt out of place and culture-shocked; hiking was a distant, pleasant memory. Instead of owning a hostel, I might stick with my original retirement plan: mountain man.
]]>
It was a foggy, overcast morning so I decided to pack my rain gear near the top. GoLite’s end of season sale was a good excuse to finally get a Virga and I splurged and bought some Tyvek pants at full price. It was great except that the pants were on my living room floor. But had I worn them I probably would have looked something like this:
Sans pants (rain pants, I was still wearing my trekking pants), I walked back to km 43 and headed out to the beach. I could hear sea lions barking but the fog was too thick to see anything. I contented myself with following some pretty awesome bear tracks. I walked beside them until the stairs to civilization: Carmanah Lighthouse. It was a quick walk up the steps. Then a confused wander around. Then a trip down some steps. Then back up. Then back down. Then down the beach until I found where I was supposed to have come down. Then halfway back up those steps, then thinking about getting stuck in the rain because I spent half-an-hour going up and down stairs.
Then another kilometer to Chez Monique’s:
Monique is a french canadian and wife of a Ditidaht (I believe). The reservation comes down to the water and she’s set up shop. A cheeseburger and pop was $19 but conversation was free–it’s a good deal per word. My pre-hike research turned up that she was a programmer, so we talked a bit about Fortran. Then politics came up and I was saved by the arrival of two Americans. It was refreshing to see them: they were the only other sane lightweight hikers. I let them carry the conversation while I watched Monique and her sous chef. It turns out that every summer Monique has hired (or maybe just free room and board) help. The French girl chopping our tomatoes found out through an organic farm. I have yet to tell him, but this is definitely a job for Nick.
The next stretch of beach held several signs of “P” life:
Predator:
Prey:
Seagulls, Poop-load of:
The back into the woods and my hiking zone. The beach might be beautiful, but if you’re not actually on the shelf it’s slow sand walking. Frustrating. I powered down the trail except for a slip on a muddy log bridge that landed me on my bum and a disturbing clanging noise while I was crossing a suspension bridge. Mechanical failure! I thought until I noticed a hiker climbing down the ladder on the other side, pots hanging off his pack and banging together loudly. I couldn’t tell if it was an intentional anti-bear technology or just lazy packing. Either way it was annoying.
Next stop was Culite Creek for some food/foot repair/bio break. Inside the fancy solar composting toilets I realized that I’d forgotten something else: my toilet paper. It was probably in the outhouse past Nitinat (forgot to mention the boat ride across the Nitinat narrows. The ferrymen said the second largest douglas fir grew near Cheewhat Lake. Apparently it takes two dozen middle school kids hand in hand to circle the trunk). Luckily, I had brought along Roy Fielding’s doctoral dissertation. I don’t know Roy and will never tell him this story, but I hope he enjoys knowing that his table of contents is hibernating on the Juan de Fuca coast, waiting until the beautiful moment when it can metamorphosize into dirt.
It was a short but muddy 4 kilometers to Camper Creek (62 km). There I met Team Awesome, 3 ex-biology students, and their trail buddy, an ex Washington-state sheriff. I set up then headed back to eat by their fire. They were great company, they even shared some chicken of the woods. They seemed content to stay up talking, but I had sleeping plans.
My cold acted up while sleeping and I had the vivid flashing light / geometric / spatial disorientation dreams I get when feverish. I woke up a few times thinking I was standing, something that would have been difficult in my tent.
]]>
Photo by mithrandir3
Thanks to Stevil for the link to True Norwegian Black Metal.
Awesome. Maybe the most awesome thing on the internet ever.
At least it was a nice break between watching Jerry “does that make sense to people?” Cain (incidentally also a Richter Scale) and Gurren “guilty pleasure” Lagann.
It also takes the “awkwardly long pause in a documentary” award away from Franc G. Fallico’s performance in Grizzly Man
]]>I was eating an orange when the bus pulled up. It was a full sized school bus which was probably overkill for 5 people. The driver was from New Zealand. This was his norther-hemisphere summer job, in October he’d head back south for his southern-hemisphere summer job… as a bus driver. Not a bad life. Two of the hikers were a couple from Australia (I think) and they had dragged along a British guy they had met in a pub. He seemed hesitant. The ride to Port Renfrew was uneventful except for Rt. 14 near the Juan de Fuca China Beach trail head when the bus driver stopped for a bear. It didn’t seem bothered by the bus at all.
In Port Renfrew we swapped the aussies and brit for three Vancouver co-workers who had just finished hiking north-south. They were nice guys with a bit of dude in them; I just kept quiet when one was complaining about the bikers in Vancouver. “They’re like rabbits!” he exclaimed. Keeping quiet was easy since I didn’t feel much like talking anyway: I’d woken up with that tickly throat feeling that normally leads to a head cold.
After 3 hours of logging roads, we got to the Bamfield trailhead of the West Coast Trail. The bikers==rabbits guy started loading his gear into his 22″ rimmed Escalade.
“Well there you go!” exclaimed the park warden when I walked into the trail office. Because of recent cougar spottings, she (the warden) had been waiting for someone to pair up with Amelia, a solo hiker, for the first 10 km. I don’t look intimidating (at all) but I had my emergency whistle. Figuring it could also double as a rape whistle if Amelia tried anything funny, I agreed.
Turns out that Amelia used to work for a Victoria based CRO before it got bought by evil Americans and turned into a dilbert inspired carnival of horrors. She quit her job and went on adventures. We spent time talking about clinical research and her time on Everest. Time passed quickly and soon we were at Michigan (12km). Amelia decided to stop there for the night. Since we were out of cougar country, I pushed on solo to Tsocowis (16.5km).
I knew it was beach camping, but imagined that meant “at the edge of the forest” and not “you’re sleeping on sand”, which was a first for me. Luckily I had just read Mike Clelland’s article and knew how to make deadmen deadpeople . Making it a night of firsts, I boiled water in my brand new Foster’s can cook-pot and ultralight stove and made boil-in-bag cous cous–a new recipe.
The tide wouldn’t be in until 3am. Given the dry wood, I felt pretty safe, but I was a little nervous about getting a night-time soaking. I went to bed with my shoes outside the door and my important gear ready to grab if I had to move out of a flooding tent in the middle of the night. I woke to the sound of waves and went outside to look. The ocean was still where it should be, far away from my tent.
I woke up, Hydropel‘ed my feet and was off. I’d packed eat-while-hiking breakfasts so I could get started to shake the morning chills. It was now obvious I had a cold. Despite that, I felt pretty awesome. This also turned out to be my day of pictures, so here they are:
Bridge over Tsocowis Creek.
It’s hard to tell but that’s a baby seal. It was napping behind a rock on the beach and made a break for the sea when it saw me. After seeing a seal run I can see why people think they’re so cute. You just want to help the little guy along.
Klanawa River cable car.
Bear scat.
Cougar scat.
Those are all logs. A giant sea of dead logs.
Km 43, where the forest trail was closed “for erosion”. It was getting late and the tides were too high for the beach route. I thought about camping here but the animal prints convinced me to backtrack to Cribs creek (41.5km).
I took advantage of the tidal flats to get some sea water for cous cous flavoring–I sort of forgot to salt my cous cous–and gargling.
]]>
There’s one whole arm of SFO that’s empty. Awesome.
There is not a single Esbit tab anywhere in Victoria. Not even in the MEC, which is strategically located across the street from Monty’s. Capital Iron came the closest with Coghlan’s fuel tabs–which I bought out of desperation since I’ve only ever used their waterproof matches which are unfortunately also fire proof–and a helpful manger who had some advice about the West Coast Trail.
Saw a flyer for Paul Devro who was playing that night. Tempting, but the bus left at 6:30 the next morning While waiting for Sue (hostel owner) to put my bags in storage I heard a girl say that Fleet Foxes were also playing that night. Note: in Victoria Wednesday night is party night.
]]>I’ve never understood what “art” means. My best guess is that it’s a medium for emotional transfer: art makes you feel something (unlike craft). Lynch’s work always succeeds at that level; I’m shocked at the efficacy of even the lo-fi cheese of Twin Peaks. I took a nap (intentionally, paused the DVD and everything) halfway through Inland Empire and had dreams that were shot like the movie: close crops & a hesitancy to reveal what others could see. I woke up panicked and sad.
Unlike Mulholland Drive, Inland Empire has a “happy” ending. In large part, that’s due to the last two songs (& the accompanying credit scene).
Chrysta Bell and David Lynch - Polish Poem (buy)
Nina Simone - Sinnerman (Inland Empire Edit) (buy)
Despite the downer middle (“I cry… I cry… / I cannot feel the warmth of the sun…”) Polish Poem ends uplifting (”something is coming true– / the dream of an innocent child // something is happening– / something is happening…”). It reminds me of Laura Palmer’s theme from Twin Peaks (though inverted: Laura Palmer’s theme has a dark beginning and end and a hopeful middle) and anything by deathprod, the best Norwegian producer ever.
Angelo Badalamenti - Laura Palmer’s Theme (Instrumental) (buy)
deathprod - treetop drive 3 (buy)
I highly recommend deathprod’s boxed set as well as his other projects: supersilent (especially the supersilent 7 DVD) featuring deathprod on “audiovirus” and Susanna and the Magical Orchestra where-in deathprod is the magical orchestra.
As for Sinnerman, it’s Nina Simone in an uptempo edit. I don’t know who did the edit but it reminds me of a more polished Moodyman.
Moodymann - KDJ16 Track 1 (buy)
And just since we’re already having a music party, I might as well add that I’ve been rocking out to the Fleet Foxes.
]]>