Archive for September, 2014


September 20, 2014

Møster! at Bergen Jazzforum

Å gå på konsert med Møster! kan minne litt om ekstremsport; det innvolverer adrenalin, det går stort sett bra, men ein viss risiko er der. No skal ikkje eg skryte av å ha vore på allverdens mange Møster!-konsertar, men eg har sett Møster i diverse konstellasjonar, og på årets Vossa Jazz såg eg kanskje 20 minutt av konserten der. Konserten på Bergen Jazzforum i går var sleppfest for plata Inner Earth, og det var kanskje ikkje heilt uventa at dei via mesteparten av konserten til denne.

Åpningslåten Descending into this crater åpner nokså roleg, der det verkar som om bandet i fyrste omgang sonderer terrenget. Til tider verker det som om dei går litt vill og ikkje heilt veit kvar dei er og kva dei vil. Men dei finn ut av det, dei finn i alle fall kvarandre i det musikalske landskapet, og etterkvart lyfter liksom musikken seg frå terrenget som ein sandstorm i ørkenen. Som sandstormen er det kaotisk og brutalt, men ein sandstorm kan visst vera vakker på avstand, og det er òg musikken.

Eit stykke ut i andrelåten Tearatorn verker det som Snah og Kapstad (kompisar frå Motorpsycho) krangler om rytmen i musikken; Snah herjer i veg på noko som minner om ein ukjent Deep Purple-låt frå syttitalet mens Kapstad, ja, det er ikkje alltid greit å vite kva han driv med, men det er i alle fall noko anna. Eilertsen på bass speler frenetisk for å halde tritt med begge. Møster sjølv reagerer på det heile med å ta luren ut av kjeften og sette seg ned. Det er som om resten av bandet har heime-aleine-fest mens Møster kviler, og som slike festar flest er det moro, men det går vel ikkje akkurat bra. Men på reint magisk vis får dei orden på sakene før far er tilbake, Kapstad lar den hersens hi-hat’en kvile ei stund og Møster trer inn att i musikken til eit øyredøvande cresendo.

Etter å ha avslutta med ein drivande Underworld Risk, vert dei klappa tilbake for å spele det Møster kallar hit’en frå forrige plate, låten Ransom Bird. Det er noko med denne låten som, særleg i går kanskje, minner meg om åpningssporet på The Shape of Jazz to Come av Ornette Coleman. Møster sjølv har vel sagt at Coltrane har vore viktig for han, men eg vil tru han òg har vore innom Coleman.

Tidlegare var Storløkken ein del av Møster!, men vart i fjor erstatta av Snah. I eit intervju sa Møster at med Snah i bandet vart det heile meir prog. Det vesle eg såg på Voss før i år og det eg har høyrt på den forrige plata har definetivt vore veldig prog, men i går kveld synes eg Snah var mindre dominerande og uttrykket bar mindre preg av prog’en. Konserten i går var likevel ein fartsfyllt og adrenaline-aktiv affære, litt som ekstremsport. Veldig bra, men ikkje utan risiko.


Working and Thinking on the Waterfront by Eric Hoffer

September 17, 2014

I got inspired to read Eric Hoffer’s Working and Thinking on the Waterfront after a couple of quotes from it in Jacques Barzun’s Simple & DirectWorking and Thinking is Hoffer’s journal that he kept from June 1958 to May 1959, a period that was critical in Hoffer’s thinking (according to the dust cover). One way or the other, it makes for rather interesting reading. The entries are a combination of tidbits from Hoffer’s life as a San Francisco longshoreman, his social life, and his observations and thinking about little things and large things. Mostly large things.

Working and Thinking on the Waterfront by Eric HofferHoffer thinks about a great deal of things, many related to how societies functions, now and earlier, far and near. While the journal entries naturally are fragmented and rather brief, they offer many interesting perspectives and ideas. Here are some of the better:

Eventually, national churches came into being […] in the West, and nations crystallized around these churces. This is a significant point: The compact churchly organization of Christianity promoted nation formation, while Islam, being without a churchly organization, could not supply a nucleus for national crystallization [pp. 13-14*].

While nation forming is a rather slow process that began eons ago, Hoffer’s observation still seem oddly relevant against the backdrop of the current situation in the Middle East. Now, nation forming is decidedly a large thing. Hoffer also thinks of maintenance, certainly a smaller thing, and how it plays a role over the centuries.

It is the capacity for maintenance which is the best test for the vigor and stamina of a society. Any society can be galvanized for a while to build something, but the will and the skill to keep things in good repair day in, day out are fairly rare. […] I read somewhere that in ancient Rome a man was disqualified as a candidate for office because his garden showed neglect [p. 21].

Nietzsche’s description of the idealist:

A creature who has reasons for remaining in the dark about himsellf, and who is also clever enough to remain in the dark concerning these reasons [p. 49].

On creativity, and I think he is right:

We somehow assume that inner contradictions, if severe enough, may bring about the breakdown of a society or a system [or an individual, my remark]. Actually, vigor and creative flow have their source in internal strains and tensions. It is the pull of opposite poles that streches souls. And only stretched souls make music [p. 56].

Let me add that the metaphor of stretching reaches far; something stretched is in a dynamic condition, and only when exploiting ones inherent dynamics can one reach ones full potential. Hoffer has further thoughts on creativity:

How explain the primacy of painting, music, and dancing; the primacy of the non-utilitarian and the extravagant? Here are probably the roots of the uniqueness of man. Man’s inventiveness is to be sought in his impracticalness and extravagance. All other forms of life are tremendously practical and serious. Man’s creativeness has its source in his playfulness and his penchant for the superfluous. It is significant that to both children and artists luxuries are more necessary than necessities. We dare more, and are more inventive, when striving for superfluities than for necessities. Our utilitarian devices are mostly an application of insights and skills gained in the pursuit of the non-utilitarian [p. 74].

Children and artists! I am a child! And Hoffer has more:

Our originality shows itself most strikingly not in what we wholly originate but in what we do with that which we borrow from others. If this be true it is obvious that second-rate writers or artists may stimulate our originality more than first-rate ones, since we borrow more readily from the former [p. 89].

Ultimately, Hoffer is able to connect his observations about creativity to ideas from Nietzsche and to ancient developments:

I compared the stretched soul to the stretched string of a musical instrument when I said that only a stretched soul makes music. Nietzsche likened the stretched soul to a tensely-strained bow with which one can aim at the furthest goals. The bow is said to have been a musical instrument before it became a weapon [p. 173].

Hoffer also reflect on writing:

My brevity is partly the result of a reluctance or inability to write. Delight in the act of writing breeds expansiveness. One shudders at the thought of the innumerable thick volumes which come into existence as the result of the sheer habit of writing. How many people with nothing to say keep writing so many pages a day in order that their body, particularly in old age, should perform its functions [p. 131].

Writing as (bodily) exercise! I think, by the way, that the above quote was referred by Barzun and thus convinced me that Hoffer was able to make sense.

The scribe’s role in ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia was not unlike that of a lawyer in present-day America. He was a multipurpose human type. He could fit into any field of human endeavor—economic, political, diplomatic, military, religious, and so on. The American lawyer is a potential recruit for corporations, universities, government, unions, banks and whatnot.

In every society there is a multipurpose type. In America it is the lawyer, in Russia the commissar, in Britain the politician, in France the writer, in Germany the professor, in Japan the Samurai [pp. 158-159].

How do Hoffer know all these things about all these different societies? Perhaps because he takes an intrinsic interest in civilization:

To be civilized is perhaps to rise above passion; to be able to observe and report without giving way to anger or enthusiasm [p. 169].

In his journal, Hoffer also reports on his reading, and he reads alot. Working and Thinking is a goldmine of great book suggestions and several of the books Hoffer reports on reading are now on my mental to-read list.

Ultimately, the book inspired me to put Hoffer’s Ordeal of Change on my to-read list because Hoffer is obviously a profound thinker. Hoffer also seem to have an uncanny ability to make deep observations that are on the verge of tautologies when they first have been suggested: ‘We die alone’ (p. 91). ‘It is […] clear how vital it is not to take oneself seriously’ (p. 95).

* Page numbers refer to the 1969-edition.

Ernest Hemingway on Writing

September 11, 2014

A while back, I read Ernest Hemingway on Writing, edited by Larry W. Phillips. Hemingway was obviously superstitious and thought it was bad luck to talk HemingwayOnWritingabout writing. He did, however, write about it. Not in a systematic manner, but here and there, now and then, in letters, articles, and books. Phillips have collected many fragments on writing from Hemingway’s hand and put them together in a somewhat orderly fashion. While the result is not all that impressive, in particular given that it comes from one of the most celebrated authors of the twentieth century, there are several interesting points, ideas, and moments contained in the collection. The book would be much more interesting and valuable, I think, if Phillips, being an accomplished writer himself, rather than just collecting and ordering all these fragments from Hemingway, would take the best ideas and fragments and provide us with his own thoughts about them; why he chose them, what they mean to him and his writing, and whether he agrees or whatever with them. [Long sentence, sorry, I won’t go back and rewrite it.]

Some of my favorite passages, interesting, revealing, or both:

My attitude toward punctuation is that it ought to be as conventional as possible. […] You ought to be able to show that you can do it a good deal better than anyone else with the regular tools before you have a license to bring in your own improvements [pp. 37-38*].

Punctuation should be rather straightforward, but it can be tricky sometimes, in particular if you are not writing in your mother tounge. But I agree that you need to master the conventions before moving beyond.

Actually if a writer needs a dictionary he should not write [p. 38].

I wholeheartedly disagree! Perhaps it could be discussed for certain types of writers, but I don’t think so.

Hemingway counted how many words he wrote each day, to measure his productivity I guess (see p. 56). I find productivity measurement interesting (probably in more ways than you can imagine). It took 320 words to make Hemingway happy. Modern word processors have made word counting very easy, but I forget to keep tally. But I guess I would be pretty satisfied with 320 words if I could keep at such a rate. My problems is that my writing (as an academic economist) comes in bursts; when I have something to write about (which is more seldom than I like to admit). Perhaps the problem is that writing depends on what I do otherwise, and not upon the mere inspiration to write. Taking a year off just to write, that would have been an interesting experience. (Note to self: This piece currently runs up towards 500 words, put down within less than an hour, and fewer than I feared when I sat down belong to Hemingway. I am a talkative person when I get started, perhaps I am a writative person as well. But how to get started on something interesting?)

Writers should work alone [p. 63].

Hemingway’s point is that too much interaction with other writers is destructive. My favorite band (Motorpsycho) said something similar in a recent interview, that they could never have become what they became if they were not in a small town where little happened; in a place where they could focus without being afraid of missing anything.

Chapter eleven contain fragments on other writers and has a bunch of great passages, perhaps more for what they reveal than what they say about writing. I feel this post is more about writing than, well, bullshit, so I’ll try to stick to the topic. On page 92, however, is a list of books that Hemingway seemingly think are important to have read for a, I presume creative, writer. Among them, War and PeaceMadam BovaryUlyssesThe Brothers Karamazov, Huckleberry Finn, and a bunch more.

All modern American literature comes from one book by Mark Twain called Huckleberry Finn. If you read it you must stop where the Nigger Jim is stolen from the boys. That is the real end. The rest is just cheating. But it’s the best book we’ve had. All American writing comes from that. There was nothing before. There has been nothing as good since [p. 93].

[Gertrud Stein’s] Making of Americans is one of the very greatest books I’ve ever read [p. 96].

The chapter goes on discussing literature that Hemingway admired, among them Hamsun’s The Growth of the Soil (Markens Grøde, which happen to be one of the best books I’ve read).

So, what did I learn from Hemingway? Worry about productivity. Be careful with punctuation and words. Read alot, the list is long.

Phillips has also edited a volume of Fitzgerald’s fragments on writing. Hemingway corresponded regularly with Fitzgerald, it seems, and many of the fragments in the book are taken from letters to Fitzgerald. While I was somewhat disappointed by what Ernest Hemingway on Writing provided, I am somewhat tempted to check out the Fitzgerald book (which usually means reading it).

* Page numbers refer to the First Scribner trade paperback edition of 2004.

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