Strange times. After a fabulous dinner last night, the kitchen light caused a short circuit; the electrician who came today to fix things ended up collapsing on the floor. I’ve seen quite enough of ambulances for a while, I fear, but one can’t always get what one wants.

Up early on a Sunday means time in the studio, which hopefully means music that you can enjoy. Here’s this morning’s effort, Phrygian Half Carafe, which took about 90 minutes and half a pot of coffee. Lots of stereo effects and layers of reverb. Also, I learned how hard it was to drink coffee in tempo.

As always, there’s lots more music in the gallery.

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The third volume of Scott Pilgrim found its way to me yesterday. The previous two volumes have become some of my most prized possessions, and rare among the things I re-read with regularity. I’d be hard pressed to give you just one reason why I like it so much, but if I had to pick I’d say because it’s sweet.

Okay, I cheated. That could read as sweet in an “aww, a bunny” way or sweet in a “totally sweet dude!” way. But Scott Pilgrim is both; it’s a story about relationships and coming to terms with the past and its lurking psychic trauma, and it’s also about over-the top fighting and mystical psychic powers. There’s some magical realism going on, to be sure.

Much of Scott Pilgrim’s vocabulary comes from music and video games. He’s in between jobs – happily unemployed – and the bassist in a probably crappy band called Sex Bob-omb (Tom Jones meets Super Mario Brothers). He’s got a great girlfriend, but has to fight each of her evil ex-boyfriends in turn to keep her. In volume three, Scott Pilgrim and the Infinite Sadness, Scott’s already vanquished numbers one and two, but Todd (#3) is harder, as he’s not only a vegan, but also dating Scott’s ex-girlfriend Envy, and Scott gets a little erratic (”even more stupid” is the term used in the book) when she’s near. He’s so not over her.

As Scott battles Todd in this volume, he’s helped by his friends, bandmates, roommate, and helpfully labeled friends of said friends, bandmates and roommate. Scott’s social circle is complex and entirely realistic, except when it’s not – Scott’s sort-of girlfriend Knives Chau, 17 and a self confessed Scottaholic , tends to pop up periodically for impromptu ninja battles.

I envy Scott. I don’t envy the messed up elements of his life, but I do wish that I could apply my Street Fighter II skills to solve problems. I can’t fight my way out of my problems, but I certainly enjoy watching him do it. I also envy (in a good way) Scott’s author, Bryan Lee O’Malley, who is also a very good musician. Sweet.

Had a lovely lunch with Beth today in Watertown, and a relaxing evening following. V helped me with a bit of ridiculous song-writing, results forthcoming.

Not my day! My glasses, nestled in a pocket, got lost on the trip from the house to the post office. Whilst retracing my steps, yet another thing flew off of my bag. I noticed it this time, and as I stopped to collect it, what did I find? My glasses! Perhaps my day after all.

That was a rather uninteresting story, but just goes to show the quietness of the week, and how moments of blind luck, good and bad, intertwine.

I accidentally bought two burritos for myself at two different places, having forgotten by the time that I reached the second place that I already had one in my messenger bag. I don’t know if I can pull any sort of moral or philosophical point out of that, but at least I got two burritos.

I attended an early music concert last night featuring baroque oboe. Very well played, and as I knew a few of the performers, got to hang out afterwards for drinks. I didn’t realize how much I missed the post rehearsal/performance/whatever ritual of sitting around a table, having beer, and talking.

As V is mostly out of commission mobility-wise for a bit, I’m doing a lot of errand running, and as such am grateful for the better weather. Also I am reminded that I need to continue assembling bike repair tools.

Things have been a little hectic this weekend; V broke her ankle, but is back after a little tender loving care at the hospital. While I wasn’t visiting her, I was doing my best to enjoy myself and not get any more anxious than needed. I’m more than a little exhausted, but everything is good.

Regularly scheduled programming will resume tomorrow.

The blue sky is all the more sweeter after so many days of rain and gloom.

In a moment of Shakespeare, last night thoroughbass and I attended Love’s Labour’s Lost at the Huntington Theater. It was an entertaining production overall; the actors did a good job at keeping things fluid and natural, though there were a few moments of overacting – perhaps appropriate – when emotions tipped into the “ai me!” lovesick range. Don Armando and his page Moth (and the rest of the low characters) played it heavy for laughs and ended up stealing it from the nobles most of the time. The sets and especially the costuming were especially lovely.

Tonight I’m off to the French restaurant Troquet for a tasting dinner. Tinkety tonk!

I’m still not sure of what finally pushed me over the edge, but last week I bought an electric guitar and an amplifier. I’ve been playing a lot every day, and while I’m not good yet, I’ve passed absolutely horrible behind.

Previous attempts at fretted and stringed instruments have failed miserably. The paradigm is so very different from keyboard or brass instruments, I always got stuck early on and never managed to break past it. I think I’ve got it this time, and perhaps I will someday advance to Guitar Sergeant or Guitar Lieutenant.

I have something to say about what passes for music theory on the guitar, but I’ll save it for another day. It’s a sort of frontier theory, and is perhaps to what I learned as late Medieval Latin is to Classical Latin.

Check out the Whitney Music Box, which uses number patterns to produce music and shows what’s going visually. It’s just amazing, Pythagoras would be proud!

Thanks to thoroughbass for the link.

I’ve lowered the price on Travelog to $10, hoping to clear out the reminder of the first pressing. Same dashing green cover, same music, all for $2.95 less! If you’ve been waiting, now is the time.

Help me narrow my losses! Take that, Invisible Hand!

On Saturday night, discussion was made about the number of songs (including the Australian national anthem!) which refer to Britannia ruling the waves. I found this odd, as I’ve never really thought of them as a nation of surfers.

This week’s plan involves extra amounts of sleep, staring mopily at the grey sky, and as much productive work as I can manage given the first and second items.

I once waited in line for 7 hours to get standing room tickets to see Richard Strauss’s Der Roskenkavelier. That was a bit onerous, surely, but sometimes a audience member must be show dedication. Tonight’s Sigur Rós concert was held in the Bank of America Pavillion, an outdoor amphitheater ill-equipped to handle the heavy rain and 40 degree weather. It was cold and miserable as the audience huddled together to hear Iceland’s great band. There was nearly a riot at the one stall that had coffee, and I lost track of the number of times I found myself shivering violently.

One might take all of this to say that I had a bad time, but this is not so. I only wish that I’d been a bit better prepared for the pesky weather so I could have better enjoyed the concert and spending less time desperately trying not to freeze.

Sigur Rós put on a good show, and played some of the hits from their last few albums. They played very loud at times, but generally quietly, and the video and light component of the set was well put together, flowing between human, animal and abstract forms; it was hard to tell what was what as time stretched. Sigur Rós makes things a bit more than they usually are, attacks were a little crisper, decays a bit longer, the cold more biting; I was acutely aware that I could not feel my toes.

This was very exciting, but what was even more exciting to me was the opening group Amina (or Amiina), a quartet of Icelandic women who later joined Sigur Rós for their set. Amina provided much of the strings, bells, and orchestral flair to Sigur Rós’ previous albums, () and Takk…, morphing between a string quartet and a percussion ensemble. Their own set tonight was a masterpiece, as good as any new music concert I’ve ever seen. The stage was strewn with instruments, and as Amina’s members slid between one instrument and the next, the texture of the music shifted seamlessly. Some things I can remember on stage from their set; strings, celeste, glockenspiel, an Apple computer (probably running Abelton Live), a zither-like instrument (hidden behind the computer), tuned wine glasses, a cheap old Casio keyboard, and a musical saw. On the last piece I could have sworn that the saw was running through some effects units and being used to play the bass part. It was mad and wonderful.

This music out of Reykjavík is the some of the most promising and exciting new music I’ve heard in years; fresh and complex sounds so appealing that hundreds and hundreds of people were willing to sit for hours in the cold and wet to experience it.

I’ve heard it said that it’s never too late to have a happy childhood. Since I had a happy childhood, that doesn’t work well for me, but perhaps it’s also never too late to have a misspent youth. I say misspending, but only in jest; in truth, I’m out and about in a big way. This previous week I was out no less than five nights, and the weekend involves a slightly belated birthday dinner for Varia, and of course the Icelandic magic that is Sigur Rós. It all feels so decadent.

Oscillating between blissed and stressed. I honestly don’t know if I’m enjoying myself or not right now, but I’m very busy.

P.S. I’ve got blisters on my fingers.