On occasion I've been known to huff and puff and inflate big red balloons of foolishness.
Mostly I notice the disapproval of others, let the balloon go, it flies about the room, releases the hilarious farting noise and ends up a shrivelled mess on the carpet. I kick it under the couch and pretend it never happened, but I know that everyone saw it.
Sometimes the balloon is so beautiful I have to release it, let it sail away until it disappears.
One day I'll keep blowing until the big red balloon is crammed full of exquisite foolishness, so full it lifts me off the ground, carries me across the sky, sets me free.
Parkstreet.
My first single "Drum" is available for download on itunes and all the other sites.
Thursday, 30 September 2010
Ann Frank And Garnet And Me.
Ann Frank, in her diary, towards the end, forgives her mother and forgives herself. At this moment she realizes she can no longer love her mother unconditionally, like a child.
I guess we all go through this realization, that our parents are humans doing the best they can. The other thing we realize is that some humans are better parents than others. Just as being born in an affluent country, or in an affluent era are matters of luck so is the parental ability of those who spawn us.
Once understood we can relate to all people more openly, know they are just other humans doing the best they can with what they've got. Ann's family were under extraordinary pressure, we all deal with the pressures of being alive in different ways. Fear, angst, sadness, pain, to live a life that helps relieve these things in others rather than adding to them, hopefully this is what we learn.
Each has a different experience from their life. We can never know where someone else is coming from, we can only hope to be sensitive, to really feel other people, and to let them feel us.
Ann Frank understood that the angry, hurtful words she wrote about her mother were a substitute for not being able to walk away from her for a few hours, or stamp her feet, or run in the park. While they were true for her they were just one part of an entire relationship, even helped her to understand it.
This one's for you Garnet, sometimes I need to be told to behave by someone who isn't my mother.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
I guess we all go through this realization, that our parents are humans doing the best they can. The other thing we realize is that some humans are better parents than others. Just as being born in an affluent country, or in an affluent era are matters of luck so is the parental ability of those who spawn us.
Once understood we can relate to all people more openly, know they are just other humans doing the best they can with what they've got. Ann's family were under extraordinary pressure, we all deal with the pressures of being alive in different ways. Fear, angst, sadness, pain, to live a life that helps relieve these things in others rather than adding to them, hopefully this is what we learn.
Each has a different experience from their life. We can never know where someone else is coming from, we can only hope to be sensitive, to really feel other people, and to let them feel us.
Ann Frank understood that the angry, hurtful words she wrote about her mother were a substitute for not being able to walk away from her for a few hours, or stamp her feet, or run in the park. While they were true for her they were just one part of an entire relationship, even helped her to understand it.
This one's for you Garnet, sometimes I need to be told to behave by someone who isn't my mother.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Today I Saved A Guy's Life.
Today I saved a guy's life. Well, I spent a couple of bucks on my cell phone and dialed three digits to summon an ambulance, but it's more than anyone else in a crowded shopping centre could manage. Comparitavely I'm a hero.
I nearly walked past him, a fellow in his early twenties , skinny, no shoes, lying on the ground while people stepped over and around him. "Just another junkie", I thought. A few paces later Jimminy Cricket shouted in my ear and I went back to help the only other person who stopped. The guy on the ground was breathing but becoming less and less lucid, the ambulance came quickly and with oxygen he responded a little. It was clear the ambulance officers were concerned. I'm pretty sure it was an overdose but I guess I'll never know.
Approximately one thousand people did nothing. One other lady sat beside him and held his hand. We live in a society that provides free emergency medical expertise. There is almost no cost in helping out a fellow human in distress, no personal risk. Today I nearly joined the people who couldn't even manage to dial three digits for another person.
What's wrong with me? It's time I got out of this city.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
I nearly walked past him, a fellow in his early twenties , skinny, no shoes, lying on the ground while people stepped over and around him. "Just another junkie", I thought. A few paces later Jimminy Cricket shouted in my ear and I went back to help the only other person who stopped. The guy on the ground was breathing but becoming less and less lucid, the ambulance came quickly and with oxygen he responded a little. It was clear the ambulance officers were concerned. I'm pretty sure it was an overdose but I guess I'll never know.
Approximately one thousand people did nothing. One other lady sat beside him and held his hand. We live in a society that provides free emergency medical expertise. There is almost no cost in helping out a fellow human in distress, no personal risk. Today I nearly joined the people who couldn't even manage to dial three digits for another person.
What's wrong with me? It's time I got out of this city.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Wednesday, 29 September 2010
Living The Life.
Anyone who pursues a creative life will hear the advice,"make sure you have something to fall back on".
A friend once told me he'd taken this advice on board and purchased an overstuffed beanbag to fall back on whenever he thought about getting a day job. Now there's some good advice.
Staying hungry seems to be essential to continuing to create new stuff. So many times I've seen musicians pick up a couple of days work to tide them over, the money feels good and they take up a couple more, until the day job becomes what they do, the music sits on the back burner until it boils dry.
Humans are programmed for security. Insecurity, financial or emotional, makes us uncomfortable. I've decided that living the life of a musician means finding a method to deal with that uncomfortable feeling. It isn't easy. It also isn't condusive to normal romantic relationships, poverty and mood swings are so unattractive.
I guess this is the definition of cool, keeping it together when life looks bleak. A comfortable beanbag might be the most profitable investment a musician can make.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
A friend once told me he'd taken this advice on board and purchased an overstuffed beanbag to fall back on whenever he thought about getting a day job. Now there's some good advice.
Staying hungry seems to be essential to continuing to create new stuff. So many times I've seen musicians pick up a couple of days work to tide them over, the money feels good and they take up a couple more, until the day job becomes what they do, the music sits on the back burner until it boils dry.
Humans are programmed for security. Insecurity, financial or emotional, makes us uncomfortable. I've decided that living the life of a musician means finding a method to deal with that uncomfortable feeling. It isn't easy. It also isn't condusive to normal romantic relationships, poverty and mood swings are so unattractive.
I guess this is the definition of cool, keeping it together when life looks bleak. A comfortable beanbag might be the most profitable investment a musician can make.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Tuesday, 28 September 2010
Compulsion And Compelled.
If one feels a compulsion to do something it doesn't mean one is compelled to do it.
Much violence, heartbreak and dishonour can be averted by learning this.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Much violence, heartbreak and dishonour can be averted by learning this.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Monday, 27 September 2010
Jokes And Political Correctness.
So a bunch of us middle aged boys are sitting outside a cafe, the topic of discussion is drink driving. Of course we are making jokes about it, that's what middle aged boys do.
"Of course I'm driving drunk officer, I'm far too pissed to walk."
"The amount of money I've spent, I'd want to be drunk!"
All the usual stuff.
So some eavesdropping wanker decides to complain. He informs us that there is nothing funny about drink driving.
Of course, of course, of course we know this. One of the guys is a cab driver who works the overnight shift, the last thing he wants is a drunk idiot coming the other way. He only drinks on his day off, my other friend is a glass of wine with dinner man and I don't drink at all, any more. We are just having a few laughs.
The politically correct fool who has interrupted us has no feel for nuance or context. We are just reminiscing, we were all brought up in an era when drink driving wasn't frowned upon so much, in fact for many it was a way of life. The pub near my childhood home had a car park as big as Texas to facilitate this activity, complete with a drive through liquor store in case you didn't already have enough on board. A family friend who lived in Sydney in the 1960's got married in Melbourne. He and four mates drank and drove for three days, staying in pubs, a hard drinking eight hundred mile road trip instead of a bucks night.
We are laughing at how foolish all that was, and how amazing it is that social attitudes can be so different in just thirty years. We are laughing about our own youthful stupidity, enjoying the fact that we are still alive when we all know others who didn't make it. Perhaps we are a little nostalgic for a day when men could be men, when high spirited fun wasn't a thought crime, even if we wouldn't want to return to some of the foolishness.
So this politically correct fool criticizes us, displaying his lack of understanding of what a conversation is, what fun is. I'm glad I'm not drunk, I'm able to limit my response to, "fuck off mate, the grown ups are talking".
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
"Of course I'm driving drunk officer, I'm far too pissed to walk."
"The amount of money I've spent, I'd want to be drunk!"
All the usual stuff.
So some eavesdropping wanker decides to complain. He informs us that there is nothing funny about drink driving.
Of course, of course, of course we know this. One of the guys is a cab driver who works the overnight shift, the last thing he wants is a drunk idiot coming the other way. He only drinks on his day off, my other friend is a glass of wine with dinner man and I don't drink at all, any more. We are just having a few laughs.
The politically correct fool who has interrupted us has no feel for nuance or context. We are just reminiscing, we were all brought up in an era when drink driving wasn't frowned upon so much, in fact for many it was a way of life. The pub near my childhood home had a car park as big as Texas to facilitate this activity, complete with a drive through liquor store in case you didn't already have enough on board. A family friend who lived in Sydney in the 1960's got married in Melbourne. He and four mates drank and drove for three days, staying in pubs, a hard drinking eight hundred mile road trip instead of a bucks night.
We are laughing at how foolish all that was, and how amazing it is that social attitudes can be so different in just thirty years. We are laughing about our own youthful stupidity, enjoying the fact that we are still alive when we all know others who didn't make it. Perhaps we are a little nostalgic for a day when men could be men, when high spirited fun wasn't a thought crime, even if we wouldn't want to return to some of the foolishness.
So this politically correct fool criticizes us, displaying his lack of understanding of what a conversation is, what fun is. I'm glad I'm not drunk, I'm able to limit my response to, "fuck off mate, the grown ups are talking".
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Sunday, 26 September 2010
What Is Blues?
Technically the musical form known as the blues is a twelve bar format with the first line taking four bars, the second being a repitition of the first and the last four bars forming the resolution. The structure follows a pattern of three chords with recognized variations. Of course this is not what blues is.
A lecturer at Julliard told Miles Davis that blues was the music of disenfranchised poor black people. Miles informed the professor that his father was a dentist but he still "loved me some blues". Even at his most esoteric Miles was essentially a blues player. His tone and phrasing and depth couldn't have come from anywhere else.
Some of the most emotionally affecting blues singing I've heard has been over a one chord groove, the vocalist improvising words to express what was in his heart at that exact moment. Blues can express anything, pain, joy, love, heartbreak, tenderness, bitterness, a never ending list.
Blues is the essence of music stripped back to expose the individual, all the clutter removed so the soul of the performer can sing truly and honestly. It is informed by the sounds of real life, it's a distant train whistle, a moaning lover, a grieving nation. Blues is simple poetry, sometimes wordless poetry. When the tenor saxophonist is wailing it resonates in us, a medium for our own souls to connect with.
The blues is love for our fellow man, I hear you brothers and sisters, I feel you. Love is all. A sweet but honest love, free of sentimentality, harsh enough to hurt.
Blues music assures us we are not alone, that all souls are one.
Blues is best at night, when our souls are open.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
A lecturer at Julliard told Miles Davis that blues was the music of disenfranchised poor black people. Miles informed the professor that his father was a dentist but he still "loved me some blues". Even at his most esoteric Miles was essentially a blues player. His tone and phrasing and depth couldn't have come from anywhere else.
Some of the most emotionally affecting blues singing I've heard has been over a one chord groove, the vocalist improvising words to express what was in his heart at that exact moment. Blues can express anything, pain, joy, love, heartbreak, tenderness, bitterness, a never ending list.
Blues is the essence of music stripped back to expose the individual, all the clutter removed so the soul of the performer can sing truly and honestly. It is informed by the sounds of real life, it's a distant train whistle, a moaning lover, a grieving nation. Blues is simple poetry, sometimes wordless poetry. When the tenor saxophonist is wailing it resonates in us, a medium for our own souls to connect with.
The blues is love for our fellow man, I hear you brothers and sisters, I feel you. Love is all. A sweet but honest love, free of sentimentality, harsh enough to hurt.
Blues music assures us we are not alone, that all souls are one.
Blues is best at night, when our souls are open.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Competition.
This weekend I watched the Australian Rules Football grand final. After two hours of intense full contact competition the scores were level, both teams will come back next week to do it all again.
It was an inspiring event. Honest competition, commitment to a team cause, courage, skill, excellence. In this form competition drives men to perform extraordinary feats.
Right now in Sydney most of the gigs for singer/songwriters are in the guise of competitions. Music is not the place for competition, there is no score that can assess which performer is better than another. How do you quantify soul?
A musician, any artist, competes with his or her own abilities, no one else's. All musicians should be helping each other, we all get better when we learn from each other. Music is for creating love, war has no place in it.
Whatever method that leads to excellence is cool with me. I can be inspired by competing athletes but that is their method, not mine.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
It was an inspiring event. Honest competition, commitment to a team cause, courage, skill, excellence. In this form competition drives men to perform extraordinary feats.
Right now in Sydney most of the gigs for singer/songwriters are in the guise of competitions. Music is not the place for competition, there is no score that can assess which performer is better than another. How do you quantify soul?
A musician, any artist, competes with his or her own abilities, no one else's. All musicians should be helping each other, we all get better when we learn from each other. Music is for creating love, war has no place in it.
Whatever method that leads to excellence is cool with me. I can be inspired by competing athletes but that is their method, not mine.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Sold.
Sold.
Her illusion of depth,
Is just layers of paint.
Nose job and hair dye,
She is what she ain't.
She's not a woman,
She's an object of art.
A trick of the eye,
A trick of the heart.
The image goes to the highest bidder,
Not the one who loves her most.
He buys the works so he can say that he did her,
So he can brag and he can boast,
That he bought her, like a picture at an exhibition.
Yeah he bought her, like a picture at an exhibition,
Yeah he purchased her, like a picture at an exhibition,
She knows she's been sold.
Oh yeah she knows.
What price for her soul.
This song was written by a bitter fellow. I've always been proud of rhyming "bidder" with "did her".
Hoping to release this song soon.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Her illusion of depth,
Is just layers of paint.
Nose job and hair dye,
She is what she ain't.
She's not a woman,
She's an object of art.
A trick of the eye,
A trick of the heart.
The image goes to the highest bidder,
Not the one who loves her most.
He buys the works so he can say that he did her,
So he can brag and he can boast,
That he bought her, like a picture at an exhibition.
Yeah he bought her, like a picture at an exhibition,
Yeah he purchased her, like a picture at an exhibition,
She knows she's been sold.
Oh yeah she knows.
What price for her soul.
This song was written by a bitter fellow. I've always been proud of rhyming "bidder" with "did her".
Hoping to release this song soon.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Sunday Lunch And Dolphins And Sleeping And Sex.
Today I was invited for Sunday lunch. It was an old fashioned, civilized and civilizing affair, complete with roasted chicken, potatoes, apple tart, cheese and coffee.
The hostess and one of the guests have both spent a lot of time in Paris. They informed me that Sundays in Paris usually consist of eating far too much food, sleeping, waking up long enough to have sex then going back to sleep. Sadly I was only invited for the eating too much section of the program but it was delightful just the same.
I figure this is how dolphins spend most of their days. Find an innocent, slow moving school of fish, eat too much, float about smugly, have sex, repeat every day of your life. Dolphins have it going on. If I believed in reincarnation I'd be living a good deed kind of life in the hope of coming back as a dolphin.
Humans should spend more time eating too much food, sleeping and making love, even if it's only on Sundays. It's that simple. We should. My blogs usually try to find an analogy between a story and a philosophical idea but today all I want to say is that we should all spend more time eating, sleeping and fucking.
That's all.
Thanks for the gorgeous lunch Laura.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
The hostess and one of the guests have both spent a lot of time in Paris. They informed me that Sundays in Paris usually consist of eating far too much food, sleeping, waking up long enough to have sex then going back to sleep. Sadly I was only invited for the eating too much section of the program but it was delightful just the same.
I figure this is how dolphins spend most of their days. Find an innocent, slow moving school of fish, eat too much, float about smugly, have sex, repeat every day of your life. Dolphins have it going on. If I believed in reincarnation I'd be living a good deed kind of life in the hope of coming back as a dolphin.
Humans should spend more time eating too much food, sleeping and making love, even if it's only on Sundays. It's that simple. We should. My blogs usually try to find an analogy between a story and a philosophical idea but today all I want to say is that we should all spend more time eating, sleeping and fucking.
That's all.
Thanks for the gorgeous lunch Laura.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Saturday, 25 September 2010
Food Clothing Shelter Art Love.
Food, clothing, shelter, art and love, these are the things humans need to survive.
Most of us manage to cobble the first three together one way or another. Many live without art and live a lesser life for it. Some live without love and barely know they are alive.
Given the first three we can turn our attention to creating poetry in our lives and loving ourselves and other humans. These are the things that make us human. Without art and love we revert to the state of our evolutionary ancestors.
We can also express our humanity by the way we manage the basics, the food we eat, the clothes we wear, the home we live in.
I stopped caring about these things a while back, I'm just returning to understanding their importance. I'm liking it.
I'm off to find something bright and blue to place in my stark and dull bathroom. And for coffee with friends, the art of conversation is a love all it's own.
Parkstreet.
http://www.myspace.com'kentparkstreet/
AbeBooks - Books on Sale
Most of us manage to cobble the first three together one way or another. Many live without art and live a lesser life for it. Some live without love and barely know they are alive.
Given the first three we can turn our attention to creating poetry in our lives and loving ourselves and other humans. These are the things that make us human. Without art and love we revert to the state of our evolutionary ancestors.
We can also express our humanity by the way we manage the basics, the food we eat, the clothes we wear, the home we live in.
I stopped caring about these things a while back, I'm just returning to understanding their importance. I'm liking it.
I'm off to find something bright and blue to place in my stark and dull bathroom. And for coffee with friends, the art of conversation is a love all it's own.
Parkstreet.
http://www.myspace.com'kentparkstreet/
AbeBooks - Books on Sale
Friday, 24 September 2010
Dressed For Romance.
A while back I was hanging out with a girl who was considerably younger than me. We were just friends but there was a hint of romance in the air, for me anyway.
One night she complimented my old trench coat. I was about to tell her when I bought it when I realized I bought it two years before she was born. I let go of the big red balloon of romance, watched it flying around the room making that hilarious farting noise until it landed, deflated and sad, in the corner.
I started thinking about some of my other favourite clothes. My black denim jacket which left the shop the same year my friend was born, my silk three quarter coat with the crazy paisley lining that always comes travelling with me, purchased while I was being a jazzhead hipster in Paris whilst my young friend was nine years old, my classic black single breasted suit that I wore to my seventy year old father's funeral back when she was a fifteen year old schoolgirl.
The involuntary image of my friend in her high school uniform made me feel creepier than David Hasselhoff looks.
All clothes are costumes for the roles we play. They affect the way we behave, when I'm booted and suited I stand taller than when I'm wearing t shirt and Levi's. Clothes display how we perceive ourselves, they become fellow travellers on our solitary road. They are souvenirs and friends. Brand new clothes are joy, old clothes are contentment.
Sometimes clothes make the man feel his age.
Parkstreet.
Songs available for download at www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
One night she complimented my old trench coat. I was about to tell her when I bought it when I realized I bought it two years before she was born. I let go of the big red balloon of romance, watched it flying around the room making that hilarious farting noise until it landed, deflated and sad, in the corner.
I started thinking about some of my other favourite clothes. My black denim jacket which left the shop the same year my friend was born, my silk three quarter coat with the crazy paisley lining that always comes travelling with me, purchased while I was being a jazzhead hipster in Paris whilst my young friend was nine years old, my classic black single breasted suit that I wore to my seventy year old father's funeral back when she was a fifteen year old schoolgirl.
The involuntary image of my friend in her high school uniform made me feel creepier than David Hasselhoff looks.
All clothes are costumes for the roles we play. They affect the way we behave, when I'm booted and suited I stand taller than when I'm wearing t shirt and Levi's. Clothes display how we perceive ourselves, they become fellow travellers on our solitary road. They are souvenirs and friends. Brand new clothes are joy, old clothes are contentment.
Sometimes clothes make the man feel his age.
Parkstreet.
Songs available for download at www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Thursday, 23 September 2010
Embarrassing Moments.
Today I uploaded a new song on myspace. Beside it I uploaded a photograph. I uploaded an incorrect photograph. For just one minute anyone who played that song also saw a very comprimising photograph of yours truly. I quickly replaced the photograph with the correct one. Fortunately I'm not popular enough to think that anyone played that song in that minute.
We all do embarrassing things occasionally. Don't we? Tell me you do too. At the time it feels like the end of the world as we know it. We always get over it. These things seem funny soon enough, sometimes in a few minutes, sometimes a decade later.
In this case I think it's pretty funny right now, and maybe a method to sell more tracks online? Maybe not! Maybe I could threaten to keep publishing nude photographs until the public buy enough songs?
I think you all should send me nude photographs of yourselves to make me feel less embarrassed. Sound fair?
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
We all do embarrassing things occasionally. Don't we? Tell me you do too. At the time it feels like the end of the world as we know it. We always get over it. These things seem funny soon enough, sometimes in a few minutes, sometimes a decade later.
In this case I think it's pretty funny right now, and maybe a method to sell more tracks online? Maybe not! Maybe I could threaten to keep publishing nude photographs until the public buy enough songs?
I think you all should send me nude photographs of yourselves to make me feel less embarrassed. Sound fair?
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Horse Shit And Unicorns.
The phrase,"he sees horse shit and goes looking for unicorns" about sums up my musical career. Don't get me wrong, I'd rather be chasing mythical beasts than shovelling shit, but I can't help thinking it's about time I grew up and started living a real life.
Every time I consider selling all my instruments and doing something different a new project pops up. These projects usually amount to nothing and end up piles of excrement on the side of the music business highway. This is the fate of most musical acts, very few go anywhere, I understand this. My problem is that I jump in so wholeheartedly that the fall hurts me every time.
It would be a relief to be a dishwasher or something else, for a while. I could work on thr novel when I got home each night. I know it would last two months then I 'd get an idea for a song and off I'd go again. Some days I see ten thousand dollars worth of woodwind in the corner of my apartment and wonder how nice ten thousand dollars worth of dollars would feel. I could sell up and start a new life. Other days I know that music is all I know and probably all I ever will.
Some people fantasize about being a musician, I fantasize about not being one. I guess I'm better off dreaming of unicorns than fcing the reality of another day of horse shit.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Every time I consider selling all my instruments and doing something different a new project pops up. These projects usually amount to nothing and end up piles of excrement on the side of the music business highway. This is the fate of most musical acts, very few go anywhere, I understand this. My problem is that I jump in so wholeheartedly that the fall hurts me every time.
It would be a relief to be a dishwasher or something else, for a while. I could work on thr novel when I got home each night. I know it would last two months then I 'd get an idea for a song and off I'd go again. Some days I see ten thousand dollars worth of woodwind in the corner of my apartment and wonder how nice ten thousand dollars worth of dollars would feel. I could sell up and start a new life. Other days I know that music is all I know and probably all I ever will.
Some people fantasize about being a musician, I fantasize about not being one. I guess I'm better off dreaming of unicorns than fcing the reality of another day of horse shit.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Post Feminist Boobs.
If I were taking part in a survey and were asked about my opinion of boobs I'd have to say that I'm for them. I'm in favour of boobs, yes I am. Big ones, small ones, medium sized ones, they are all just terrific.
The last two generations of women, and some men, fought for the right to be treated as human beings, not objects. I find it difficult to understand why breast augmentation surgery is becoming more popular instead of less popular. As lovely as breasts are I can't imagine why any woman would believe that bigger or rounder ones will make her life better. Can extra attention from men be important enough to justify inserting plastic bits inside a naturally beautiful part of the body?
I understand why strippers do it, their physical image translates directly to dollars. Hanging a sign outside the shop is always good for business. I hope that most women don't see their body as a place of business.
The funny thing is that most men prefer natural boobs. We like that they are all different, we like them as they come, attached to a female body that fits them. We like that small ones are often more sensitive, that big ones squeeze against us when we hug, that different clothes suit all the different shapes. Men are suspicious, and rightfully, of both fake boobs and the women who own them.
The question is, would any woman really want a man who is only attracted by her boobs? If you seek a shallow, ignorant man then go ahead and get those babies pumped up. If not, keep them as they are, we love them just as they come.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
The last two generations of women, and some men, fought for the right to be treated as human beings, not objects. I find it difficult to understand why breast augmentation surgery is becoming more popular instead of less popular. As lovely as breasts are I can't imagine why any woman would believe that bigger or rounder ones will make her life better. Can extra attention from men be important enough to justify inserting plastic bits inside a naturally beautiful part of the body?
I understand why strippers do it, their physical image translates directly to dollars. Hanging a sign outside the shop is always good for business. I hope that most women don't see their body as a place of business.
The funny thing is that most men prefer natural boobs. We like that they are all different, we like them as they come, attached to a female body that fits them. We like that small ones are often more sensitive, that big ones squeeze against us when we hug, that different clothes suit all the different shapes. Men are suspicious, and rightfully, of both fake boobs and the women who own them.
The question is, would any woman really want a man who is only attracted by her boobs? If you seek a shallow, ignorant man then go ahead and get those babies pumped up. If not, keep them as they are, we love them just as they come.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Wednesday, 22 September 2010
Pride And Sexuality.
My female friends are in the habit of telling me about their relationship and marital problems. Yep, I'm that guy.
One thing that always comes up is how long it is since they and their partner have had sex. It's seen as a barometer for the state of all other aspects of a relationship but I think it is more about pride. Women put a price on sexual favours, not financial, rather the male must leap athletically through a range of hoops like a trained puppy before the sex act can take place. It seems once a partner has been chosen and sex is being given freely a woman is astounded when a man no longer taps her on the shoulder in the night. They are hurt.
I can understand it, our culture blows female sexuality out of all proportion, even the most well adjusted woman can't help believing that some of her worth is in male desire for her. What women forget is that men often value themselves through the eyes of their women. It is still a man's world but as the great James Brown said, it's nothing without a woman. When men no longer feel they are a source of pride for their partner they don't feel sexy.
Of course no woman who is venting about their partner wants to hear a man telling them they are partly to blame. I do tell them, gently. Occasioanally I feel like saying,"well, if you aren't getting it at home . . ." but I refrain.
Female pride is a scary thing. Male pride is nothing in comparison. All I can suggest to my male friends is to give up the good stuff even when you don't feel like it. It doesn't take much to get a man in the mood, let's face it. Fake it for a minute or two!
How long since you and your partner got down, huh?"
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
One thing that always comes up is how long it is since they and their partner have had sex. It's seen as a barometer for the state of all other aspects of a relationship but I think it is more about pride. Women put a price on sexual favours, not financial, rather the male must leap athletically through a range of hoops like a trained puppy before the sex act can take place. It seems once a partner has been chosen and sex is being given freely a woman is astounded when a man no longer taps her on the shoulder in the night. They are hurt.
I can understand it, our culture blows female sexuality out of all proportion, even the most well adjusted woman can't help believing that some of her worth is in male desire for her. What women forget is that men often value themselves through the eyes of their women. It is still a man's world but as the great James Brown said, it's nothing without a woman. When men no longer feel they are a source of pride for their partner they don't feel sexy.
Of course no woman who is venting about their partner wants to hear a man telling them they are partly to blame. I do tell them, gently. Occasioanally I feel like saying,"well, if you aren't getting it at home . . ." but I refrain.
Female pride is a scary thing. Male pride is nothing in comparison. All I can suggest to my male friends is to give up the good stuff even when you don't feel like it. It doesn't take much to get a man in the mood, let's face it. Fake it for a minute or two!
How long since you and your partner got down, huh?"
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Tuesday, 21 September 2010
Practise As Meditation, from www.parkstreetfluteblog.blogspot.com
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Practise As Meditation.
Who'd have thought playing loop scales could be so much fun? Today I played my flute for the first time in three months. I feel like a new man.
It's something to do with repitition and regulated breathing, practise is like meditation. I went to a studio, a room with no distractions, ran through all twelve keys in two and a half octave loop scales. I've done this so many times, so many times. When that routine was complete I just blasted, sang through the instrument, made all the obscure noises I know. At risk of sounding like a complete geek I had so much fun that I was grinning like a lunatic on the way out of the studio.
I recommend practising every day, but a break can be a beautiful thing. It was like returning to an old lover, familiar but fresh.
Parkstreet.
"Warm Up", solo flute, now available on iTunes
Practise As Meditation.
Who'd have thought playing loop scales could be so much fun? Today I played my flute for the first time in three months. I feel like a new man.
It's something to do with repitition and regulated breathing, practise is like meditation. I went to a studio, a room with no distractions, ran through all twelve keys in two and a half octave loop scales. I've done this so many times, so many times. When that routine was complete I just blasted, sang through the instrument, made all the obscure noises I know. At risk of sounding like a complete geek I had so much fun that I was grinning like a lunatic on the way out of the studio.
I recommend practising every day, but a break can be a beautiful thing. It was like returning to an old lover, familiar but fresh.
Parkstreet.
"Warm Up", solo flute, now available on iTunes
Monday, 20 September 2010
Cheeseburger, Cheeseburger, Cheeseburger Man.
I enter the bar late, after work. I'm starving. I peer into the open kitchen to see if the cheeseburger master is still cooking. He is cleaning up, I rush to the bar and ahoy the barmaid. I barely notice that she is one of the most beautiful women on the planet, I just want to know if I'm too late for a cheeseburger.
The barmaid runs off to the kitchen, the old cook sees the look on my face, smiles, "what do you want buddy, last order for the night". He is a saint, his white t shirt radiates joy, the grey white hair peeking out of the back of his cap speaks of experience and skill.
There is no doubt in my mind, "cheeseburger, cheeseburger and fries, thank you, thank you, thank you, cheeseburger, cheeseburger, cheeseburger man".
I trust this man with my food, even though the kitchen is closed he won't rush or take half measures, my late night supper will be as good as any he has cooked all night. He is a zen master expressing himself through his simple food, his mind and body are focused on exactly what he is doing right now, not on distractions, not on finishing work and taking his first beer, there will be time for that.
Aaah, now I can relax and turn my attention to that barmaid, small talk until the glorious American staple hits the bar, then she will disappear again while I revel in the joy of the work of the cheeseburger, cheeseburger, cheeseburger man.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
The barmaid runs off to the kitchen, the old cook sees the look on my face, smiles, "what do you want buddy, last order for the night". He is a saint, his white t shirt radiates joy, the grey white hair peeking out of the back of his cap speaks of experience and skill.
There is no doubt in my mind, "cheeseburger, cheeseburger and fries, thank you, thank you, thank you, cheeseburger, cheeseburger, cheeseburger man".
I trust this man with my food, even though the kitchen is closed he won't rush or take half measures, my late night supper will be as good as any he has cooked all night. He is a zen master expressing himself through his simple food, his mind and body are focused on exactly what he is doing right now, not on distractions, not on finishing work and taking his first beer, there will be time for that.
Aaah, now I can relax and turn my attention to that barmaid, small talk until the glorious American staple hits the bar, then she will disappear again while I revel in the joy of the work of the cheeseburger, cheeseburger, cheeseburger man.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Congratulations All You Humans.
Aaaah, humanity, you strange almost hairless apes, I'm full of admiration for you all. Compelled to deny your true nature, oppressed by the slavery of work, repressed by those who say they speak for god, you somehow rise every morning and go on with your lives, somehow find a way to love and get along with each other.
Bravo, men and women, you meet and mate despite the social rules that make it so difficult. You raise children against the tide of misinformation from Hollywood, you build homes and families for those you love.
You strive tirelessly to understand yourself, your culture, your world, your universe and anything that may be beyond. You know you will never know everything yet you keep striving. You try every avenue, from the soul to the spacecraft.
You forgive the worst, adore the best, try to be the latter not the former. You fail daily and forgive yourself. You learn to love yourself.
Yes humanity, you are criticized constantly but you know you are doing the best you can. You know that each generation will become closer to what a human can be, and finally evolve beyond it.
Congratulations to you all, you wonderful loving strange apes.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Bravo, men and women, you meet and mate despite the social rules that make it so difficult. You raise children against the tide of misinformation from Hollywood, you build homes and families for those you love.
You strive tirelessly to understand yourself, your culture, your world, your universe and anything that may be beyond. You know you will never know everything yet you keep striving. You try every avenue, from the soul to the spacecraft.
You forgive the worst, adore the best, try to be the latter not the former. You fail daily and forgive yourself. You learn to love yourself.
Yes humanity, you are criticized constantly but you know you are doing the best you can. You know that each generation will become closer to what a human can be, and finally evolve beyond it.
Congratulations to you all, you wonderful loving strange apes.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Sunday, 19 September 2010
I Don't Get Art.
So I'm watching a documentary about some artist who builds giant outdoor sculptures out of rocks in places where no one goes. The works can only be properly seen from the air so almost nobody will ever view them.
His current project is in the Gobi desert, one thousand Chinese soldiers with no understanding of the work have been conscripted to build the work. I wonder what they make of the whole project? Will being involved in creating something alter their view of the world or is it just a few days away from boring army life?
For some reason I'd have more respect for the artist if he camped out in the desert and carried all the rocks himself. For me the process, the building of any work is part of the end result. If he drew some outlines on a canvass and let others colour in the rest would it be a real painting?
The real question is what drives this dude to pile rocks atop one another in interesting shapes, in interesting places? The rocks are being moved from the place where nature decided they should sit and being placed where a man thinks they should be placed. Why does he believe that his placement is art any more than the original positions?
Nature will dispose of these works in a human lifetime, they will be forgotten, the rocks will again be left to nature to arrange. When I play music the notes hit the air, people's ears, then die. Hopefully they affect the audience, and me as I make them, hopefully they carry on in some way in memory. Perhaps one thousand soldiers and an artist will be changed by their sculpture experience, and any audience who may come across it looking down from a plane.
Humans seem to be driven to make stuff, if they call it art or not. From planting a tree to conducting an orchestra, placing a carpet in a particular room to writing a song, we can't help ourselves, we have to design and redesign our environments. Unfortunately the art world finds really stupid ways to describe this urge, make it sound like something us common folk could never understand. There is nothing so complex going on, one thousand Chinese soldiers will all react one thousand different ways to building giant sculptures in the desert, but all one thousand are valid.
If any of those soldiers thought the giant rock piles were stupid and pointless, they may well have been correct. I think I'd agree with them. Yet I love the fact that one artist decided to follow his own path and do something ludicrous and fun out there. More power to him and all the other lunatics who call themselves artists and try to rearrange nature for the hell of it.
Parkstreet.
"Drum", my first single available on itunes.
His current project is in the Gobi desert, one thousand Chinese soldiers with no understanding of the work have been conscripted to build the work. I wonder what they make of the whole project? Will being involved in creating something alter their view of the world or is it just a few days away from boring army life?
For some reason I'd have more respect for the artist if he camped out in the desert and carried all the rocks himself. For me the process, the building of any work is part of the end result. If he drew some outlines on a canvass and let others colour in the rest would it be a real painting?
The real question is what drives this dude to pile rocks atop one another in interesting shapes, in interesting places? The rocks are being moved from the place where nature decided they should sit and being placed where a man thinks they should be placed. Why does he believe that his placement is art any more than the original positions?
Nature will dispose of these works in a human lifetime, they will be forgotten, the rocks will again be left to nature to arrange. When I play music the notes hit the air, people's ears, then die. Hopefully they affect the audience, and me as I make them, hopefully they carry on in some way in memory. Perhaps one thousand soldiers and an artist will be changed by their sculpture experience, and any audience who may come across it looking down from a plane.
Humans seem to be driven to make stuff, if they call it art or not. From planting a tree to conducting an orchestra, placing a carpet in a particular room to writing a song, we can't help ourselves, we have to design and redesign our environments. Unfortunately the art world finds really stupid ways to describe this urge, make it sound like something us common folk could never understand. There is nothing so complex going on, one thousand Chinese soldiers will all react one thousand different ways to building giant sculptures in the desert, but all one thousand are valid.
If any of those soldiers thought the giant rock piles were stupid and pointless, they may well have been correct. I think I'd agree with them. Yet I love the fact that one artist decided to follow his own path and do something ludicrous and fun out there. More power to him and all the other lunatics who call themselves artists and try to rearrange nature for the hell of it.
Parkstreet.
"Drum", my first single available on itunes.
Friday, 17 September 2010
Skinny White Boy Blues.
I've recently had the privilige of playing some blues with some real African American bluesmen and playing reggae with some Jamaican guys. It was an honour for a skinny white boy like me and I learned a lot.
I don't believe for a moment that skin colour has anything to do with soul, I'm pretty certain that culture has a lot to do with it. Cultures that value soul and expression tend to offer up soulful players and singers, stiff, let us say British influenced cultures tend not to.
Living a soulful life sounds easy enough, it's as simple as being honest and cool with one's environment, but it can be very difficult. When all around is middle class and lame soul can appear pretentious. I've found that when I'm surrounded by soulful brothers it feels natural, and my playing follows along.
Even skinny white boys can live and play with soul, making the decision to step out of the prim everyday life we are used to is the first step.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
I don't believe for a moment that skin colour has anything to do with soul, I'm pretty certain that culture has a lot to do with it. Cultures that value soul and expression tend to offer up soulful players and singers, stiff, let us say British influenced cultures tend not to.
Living a soulful life sounds easy enough, it's as simple as being honest and cool with one's environment, but it can be very difficult. When all around is middle class and lame soul can appear pretentious. I've found that when I'm surrounded by soulful brothers it feels natural, and my playing follows along.
Even skinny white boys can live and play with soul, making the decision to step out of the prim everyday life we are used to is the first step.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Thursday, 16 September 2010
Beauty In Sadness.
Those who know me, or who read this blog regularly, will probably have guessed that there are days when I have to paddle pretty damn hard to stay emotionally afloat. It's cool, the emotional default position of every human is different, if we all sat half way between sadness and elation there really would be nothing to talk about.
Fortunately for me I find solace in the absurd. Even more fortunately our culture offers an abundance of absurdity so I always have plenty to keep me laughing.
I believe there is a beauty in sadness, sweetness in melancholy. Knowing my natural element allows me to express that, in the blues and most other musical forms. Without people like me all the songs would be happy happy, so what would we listen to when we want to wallow? We all have days and nights when we need to be reminded that we aren't the only people to ever be dumped, or lost, or broke, or any of the other things that bring us down.
Being at home with one's own state of mind leads to serenity. Trying to be something we aren't leads to confusion. For me, trying to be the cheerful guy off the television when I don't feel that way is just foolishness. Let the naturally cheerful folks do their thing, I'll do mine.
When you hear the phrase,"the girl with the sad eyes" you immediately imagine her to be beautiful, don't you? Sadness is just one of the forms of beauty but we shouldn't deny it just because our culture worships the young and smiley. There is a dark side to all of us, ignoring it is a pretending game.
I'm at home with myself for the first time in years,it can only lead to creating more beautiful stuff. And the occasional absurdity.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Fortunately for me I find solace in the absurd. Even more fortunately our culture offers an abundance of absurdity so I always have plenty to keep me laughing.
I believe there is a beauty in sadness, sweetness in melancholy. Knowing my natural element allows me to express that, in the blues and most other musical forms. Without people like me all the songs would be happy happy, so what would we listen to when we want to wallow? We all have days and nights when we need to be reminded that we aren't the only people to ever be dumped, or lost, or broke, or any of the other things that bring us down.
Being at home with one's own state of mind leads to serenity. Trying to be something we aren't leads to confusion. For me, trying to be the cheerful guy off the television when I don't feel that way is just foolishness. Let the naturally cheerful folks do their thing, I'll do mine.
When you hear the phrase,"the girl with the sad eyes" you immediately imagine her to be beautiful, don't you? Sadness is just one of the forms of beauty but we shouldn't deny it just because our culture worships the young and smiley. There is a dark side to all of us, ignoring it is a pretending game.
I'm at home with myself for the first time in years,it can only lead to creating more beautiful stuff. And the occasional absurdity.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
I Objects.
Today I purchased a new flute stand. For those of you who don't play the flute, and I'm told there are some people who don't, I'll try to explain this object. The flute is fragile, all the mechanisms are on the outside so it is difficult to put down. We use a peg that sits on the floor, inserts into the hole at the bottom end of the instrument. Yes yes, it is fraught with sexual imagery, the stand actually does look like a small sex toy, or so I'm told. The legs that make it stable fold up along the length of the peg.
The new one I bought is of a superior design, the legs detach then fold inside the peg, making it one quarter the size of the old one. You can imagine that space in a flute case is minimal. Now I have room for important things like sunglasses and iPods.
This new device may not sound like news, but for me it is. My old flute stand was given to me by the love of my life, parting with it will hurt. She didn't like that I displayed more emotion with the flute than I did with her, that playing it took me out every night, that after I played it I went out to get drunk, yet she noticed I needed a new stand and found one and gave it to me. It is now fifteen years old, the paint has stripped allowing flute player spit to soak into it, the legs are unstable, until now I couldn't bring myself to let it go even though it is almost useless.
I know that objects are just symbols of the past, they represent something but they aren't the actual thing. There is no reason to think I will forget her once all the objects associated with her are gone, but letting go of each one is a battle. It has been nine years since she died so there aren't many things left. The black denim jacket we shared is really the last, and that is beginning to fray.
When a house burns down people cry and say that all their memories were inside. I understand but disagree. Objects are triggers, the memories are always with us. Celebrating her life will have to replace the objects, giving myself those few moments to remember her when I want to, keeping her spirit alive in me when I play, even imagining how much she would have liked the cunning design of my new flute stand, and the dirty joke she would have made about it.
Stuff is just stuff, a new flute stand is just a useful object, love is eternal.
Parkstreet.
"Warm Up" flute solo available for download on itunes.
The new one I bought is of a superior design, the legs detach then fold inside the peg, making it one quarter the size of the old one. You can imagine that space in a flute case is minimal. Now I have room for important things like sunglasses and iPods.
This new device may not sound like news, but for me it is. My old flute stand was given to me by the love of my life, parting with it will hurt. She didn't like that I displayed more emotion with the flute than I did with her, that playing it took me out every night, that after I played it I went out to get drunk, yet she noticed I needed a new stand and found one and gave it to me. It is now fifteen years old, the paint has stripped allowing flute player spit to soak into it, the legs are unstable, until now I couldn't bring myself to let it go even though it is almost useless.
I know that objects are just symbols of the past, they represent something but they aren't the actual thing. There is no reason to think I will forget her once all the objects associated with her are gone, but letting go of each one is a battle. It has been nine years since she died so there aren't many things left. The black denim jacket we shared is really the last, and that is beginning to fray.
When a house burns down people cry and say that all their memories were inside. I understand but disagree. Objects are triggers, the memories are always with us. Celebrating her life will have to replace the objects, giving myself those few moments to remember her when I want to, keeping her spirit alive in me when I play, even imagining how much she would have liked the cunning design of my new flute stand, and the dirty joke she would have made about it.
Stuff is just stuff, a new flute stand is just a useful object, love is eternal.
Parkstreet.
"Warm Up" flute solo available for download on itunes.
Tuesday, 14 September 2010
Back In Sydney.
It takes two hours to get out of Sydney Airport. I'm Australian, there are no questions about me entering the country, but it still takes two hours.
So you get up at ten a.m., check out of your San Francisco hotel room, spend the day walking the city, dining with some new and beautiful friends,(thank you Carrol and Dennis), hit the airport , hang around, sit through the delay, fly for fourteen hours, it"s already twenty eight hours since you got up, then two more hours of lining up like a sheep to be dipped. A series of ridiculous questions that one wouldn't answer honestly if one were planning evil doings, another line, another man who seriously digs wearing a uniform. Even the uniforms are crap, I'd prefer to be asked dumb questions by a man in French style.
I came back to Australia planning to maintain the positive attitude I found in Portland. Why do you test me, uniform man?
Finally out of the airport, I line up for a taxi, another twenty minutes. I imagine a Portland hippy laughing at the S shaped queue,"absurdity is fun!"
Victory is mine, home, shower, put on some clothes I haven't been wearing the last two months, down the road to the local cafe I call home, share some laughs, break the Sydney code by saying hello to strangers.
Victory is mine.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
So you get up at ten a.m., check out of your San Francisco hotel room, spend the day walking the city, dining with some new and beautiful friends,(thank you Carrol and Dennis), hit the airport , hang around, sit through the delay, fly for fourteen hours, it"s already twenty eight hours since you got up, then two more hours of lining up like a sheep to be dipped. A series of ridiculous questions that one wouldn't answer honestly if one were planning evil doings, another line, another man who seriously digs wearing a uniform. Even the uniforms are crap, I'd prefer to be asked dumb questions by a man in French style.
I came back to Australia planning to maintain the positive attitude I found in Portland. Why do you test me, uniform man?
Finally out of the airport, I line up for a taxi, another twenty minutes. I imagine a Portland hippy laughing at the S shaped queue,"absurdity is fun!"
Victory is mine, home, shower, put on some clothes I haven't been wearing the last two months, down the road to the local cafe I call home, share some laughs, break the Sydney code by saying hello to strangers.
Victory is mine.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
So Long Portland Oregon.
So long, Portland Oregon, I love you.
Thank you to everyone who made me feel so welcome there, who were so encouraging and helpful and loving and beautiful.
It's both a threat and a promise, I'll be back.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Thank you to everyone who made me feel so welcome there, who were so encouraging and helpful and loving and beautiful.
It's both a threat and a promise, I'll be back.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Saturday, 11 September 2010
Motivation.
I'm legally blind, so I can't see when another person is looking at me. A lot of information is transferred via eye contact, so I have to find other methods to gain that information.
An example is trying attract a bartender or waitress. Instead of waving like a lunatic I just try to appear dissatisfied. Service staff are trained to give attention to the dissatisfied and come running.
This simple trick works by triggering what motivates a human in a set situation. This trick can be applied to just about any situation and becomes easier the more you practise it, like any trick. Most people have simple motivations, they want to present an image to others and respond accordingly. They want to fit into socially acceptable archetypes. They want to appear funny, smart, beautiful, tough, all the usual stuff. Let a policeman know you are intimidated by him and he'll do anything for you. Pick the feature that a pretty girl doesn't like about herself and compliment it and she'll warm to you.
You often hear people saying someone else has no motivation. It may be that their motivation is outside the usual archetypes and therefore difficult to comprehend. If these people find their motivation honestly and deeply they will find themselves feeling free and happy, and free from exploitation by creeps like me.
The trick that I use is useful for my circumstances, and relatively harmless. Conmen and criminals use similar tricks. You can't con an honest man. Seeing our own motivations clearly is harder than seeing through others.
Why do I do what I do?
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
An example is trying attract a bartender or waitress. Instead of waving like a lunatic I just try to appear dissatisfied. Service staff are trained to give attention to the dissatisfied and come running.
This simple trick works by triggering what motivates a human in a set situation. This trick can be applied to just about any situation and becomes easier the more you practise it, like any trick. Most people have simple motivations, they want to present an image to others and respond accordingly. They want to fit into socially acceptable archetypes. They want to appear funny, smart, beautiful, tough, all the usual stuff. Let a policeman know you are intimidated by him and he'll do anything for you. Pick the feature that a pretty girl doesn't like about herself and compliment it and she'll warm to you.
You often hear people saying someone else has no motivation. It may be that their motivation is outside the usual archetypes and therefore difficult to comprehend. If these people find their motivation honestly and deeply they will find themselves feeling free and happy, and free from exploitation by creeps like me.
The trick that I use is useful for my circumstances, and relatively harmless. Conmen and criminals use similar tricks. You can't con an honest man. Seeing our own motivations clearly is harder than seeing through others.
Why do I do what I do?
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Friday, 10 September 2010
Black Fella' White Fella'.
The indigenous Australians coined the terms "white fella" and "black fella" to describe the differences between two cultures. They aren't racist terms, people can be white skinned black fellas or black skinned white fellas, or a mixture of those possibilities.
Denial of difference is one of the absurd outcomes of political correctness. Indigenous Australians are innately honest, they can't be bothered with pretence. Telling it how it is has been a great advance in communication between white and black Australians.
Being here in America for a couple of months, and living in a largely black neighbourhood, I've witnessed obvious differences between African American culture and white American culture. The two overlap in a fascinating way. In the end people are just people, culture is only a part of a human being. Folks in Portland seem to thrive on the differences, enjoy them.
Real racism stems from judgement, deciding which differences are o.k. and which aren't. The terms black fella, white fella circumvent a lot of nonsense.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Denial of difference is one of the absurd outcomes of political correctness. Indigenous Australians are innately honest, they can't be bothered with pretence. Telling it how it is has been a great advance in communication between white and black Australians.
Being here in America for a couple of months, and living in a largely black neighbourhood, I've witnessed obvious differences between African American culture and white American culture. The two overlap in a fascinating way. In the end people are just people, culture is only a part of a human being. Folks in Portland seem to thrive on the differences, enjoy them.
Real racism stems from judgement, deciding which differences are o.k. and which aren't. The terms black fella, white fella circumvent a lot of nonsense.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Thursday, 9 September 2010
Have I Become So Rich?
In a Tolstoy story I read recently a character asked himself,"have I grown so rich that I've become afraid of robbers?"
I always love it when words written a while back sound fresh, like they could have been written yesterday. I've been rich and poor, money buys security and fear at the same time, a cute paradox.
On the other hand being poor is paradox free, it simply sucks.
The secret is to find happiness in things other than money so there is no fear in poverty. If you're free of the fear of poverty being rich can be a joy.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.con/kentparkstreet
I always love it when words written a while back sound fresh, like they could have been written yesterday. I've been rich and poor, money buys security and fear at the same time, a cute paradox.
On the other hand being poor is paradox free, it simply sucks.
The secret is to find happiness in things other than money so there is no fear in poverty. If you're free of the fear of poverty being rich can be a joy.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.con/kentparkstreet
Tuesday, 7 September 2010
Super Fly.
Tonight I was lucky enough to play saxophone on a very cool version of Super Fly. Johnny D was singing. I sang a tune after him but it was a bit like a sketch on a napkin after Picasso has completed a canvass. The man can sing the blues.
Johnny D caresses and bullies the lyric into doing what he wants. He drives the rhythm, he weaves with the players, his natural born soul is open. I'm a fair to average blues singer, a band singer who can relieve the real singer when required. I'll go home a much better blues singer for having heard Johnny D.
He improvised a song for us. "All my friends live in America, They all talk just like me". It was funny and clever and heartfelt, thanking me for coming from across the sea. He was saying we are now friends. A real gift. He finished it with a spoken riff asking us to send him a koala so he can be the first one on his block to have a koala. In Australia we have laws about such things but I'll send him a stuffed toy koala. I hope it will make him smile.
The blues can be the most boring music on earth. Having heard the real thing, standing right beside the real thing, I feel like I get what the blues should really be. I have no plans to become a blues singer but this new knowledge will inform all the other music I play. It will also inform the way I live.
Thank you Johnny D.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Johnny D caresses and bullies the lyric into doing what he wants. He drives the rhythm, he weaves with the players, his natural born soul is open. I'm a fair to average blues singer, a band singer who can relieve the real singer when required. I'll go home a much better blues singer for having heard Johnny D.
He improvised a song for us. "All my friends live in America, They all talk just like me". It was funny and clever and heartfelt, thanking me for coming from across the sea. He was saying we are now friends. A real gift. He finished it with a spoken riff asking us to send him a koala so he can be the first one on his block to have a koala. In Australia we have laws about such things but I'll send him a stuffed toy koala. I hope it will make him smile.
The blues can be the most boring music on earth. Having heard the real thing, standing right beside the real thing, I feel like I get what the blues should really be. I have no plans to become a blues singer but this new knowledge will inform all the other music I play. It will also inform the way I live.
Thank you Johnny D.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Last Days In Portland.
It's a strange feeling leaving a place you love, not knowing if you'll ever come back. I've been here in Portland for two months and it's my third visit in two and a half years so it feels like home in a way, I'm leaving many familiar faces and locations.
Each day I'm doing the last of everything. My last breakfast at my favourite bar, my last coffee from Josh, the last Tuesday night blues jam with Johnny D and Gerald. I'm playing my last set on Wednesday night, my last friendly Portland audience.
I'm dying inside.
It might sound like a self indulgent thing to say but Portland Oregon is the town where I feel natural, something I've never felt in Australia. There any number of reasons why, I won't go through them all, they all add up to being in love with the place.
There are funny sides to moving on too. I'm trying to nurse through the last bar of soap, just four more showers, why buy another one? Enjoying my last packet of Tim's chips, they're the best. And gummy bears, why am I addicted to gummy bears?
I may make it back here, I may not, who knows? So many things can change. There may be romance, work, eye surgery, the unpredicted.
I've been blessed to have spent some time here. Whatever happens next I'll always appreciate what Portland has given me. Hemmingway came up with the phrase,"a moveable feast" when talking about the spirit of Paris. I owe it to myself to take the spirit of Portland with me wherever I go.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Each day I'm doing the last of everything. My last breakfast at my favourite bar, my last coffee from Josh, the last Tuesday night blues jam with Johnny D and Gerald. I'm playing my last set on Wednesday night, my last friendly Portland audience.
I'm dying inside.
It might sound like a self indulgent thing to say but Portland Oregon is the town where I feel natural, something I've never felt in Australia. There any number of reasons why, I won't go through them all, they all add up to being in love with the place.
There are funny sides to moving on too. I'm trying to nurse through the last bar of soap, just four more showers, why buy another one? Enjoying my last packet of Tim's chips, they're the best. And gummy bears, why am I addicted to gummy bears?
I may make it back here, I may not, who knows? So many things can change. There may be romance, work, eye surgery, the unpredicted.
I've been blessed to have spent some time here. Whatever happens next I'll always appreciate what Portland has given me. Hemmingway came up with the phrase,"a moveable feast" when talking about the spirit of Paris. I owe it to myself to take the spirit of Portland with me wherever I go.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Unimedia.
When Ibreturn to Sydney I'll be experimenting with a brand new style of performance. I plan to name it "Unimedia".
Unimedia will be seen as unique for what it doesn't have rather than what it does. It won't have digital projections, synthesizers or samplers, no loops, no pyrotechnics, no lighting rigs, no dub effects, and certainly no talk if soundscapes, whatever they are.
If there is lighting it will be one soft spot. If the room is bug enough for amplification there will be one microphone and one lead from my guitar. If the room is small enough it will be purely acoustic, relying heavily on the hand made technology of a Spanich guitar built by a craftsman.
I know this all sounds shocking, Unimedia will break new ground. People will be forced to listen to a song without bright shiny things to look at. This exciting new style has never been tried before.so it may take a while to catch on.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Unimedia will be seen as unique for what it doesn't have rather than what it does. It won't have digital projections, synthesizers or samplers, no loops, no pyrotechnics, no lighting rigs, no dub effects, and certainly no talk if soundscapes, whatever they are.
If there is lighting it will be one soft spot. If the room is bug enough for amplification there will be one microphone and one lead from my guitar. If the room is small enough it will be purely acoustic, relying heavily on the hand made technology of a Spanich guitar built by a craftsman.
I know this all sounds shocking, Unimedia will break new ground. People will be forced to listen to a song without bright shiny things to look at. This exciting new style has never been tried before.so it may take a while to catch on.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Monday, 6 September 2010
Blackmail.
I can't help noticing how few people read my blog on public holidays. I can only assume this means you are reading this blog at work. I'm just letting you know that unless regular readers start commenting on this blog I'll be calling your employers to tell them that you waste paid works hours reading the musings of a travelling bum musician. Yes, it's blackmail, but in a good cause. Blogs work better when others offer opinions. You don't have to have a Blogger profile, or even use your real name. You already waste time when you should be working, throw another couple of minutes away and talk to me.
Or else.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Or else.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Flying Solo Missions.
I admire performers who can stand on a stage on their own and entertain an audience. Believe me, it's harder than it looks.
Billy Bragg, Loudon Wainwright, Don Maclean, these guys can pull it off, but not many can. We are used to big production, lights, fireworks, costumes, all that nonsense, it really takes something to grab attention with just a guitar and a voice.
Humour helps. Get folks laughing and they'll listen for a while. Confidence in the songs helps too. Feeling good about the songs makes it easy to sell them. There is a whole list of skills and methods but I think there is something else at play. Without wishing to sound corny I believe it comes down to love for the people in front of the stage. No relationship between humans works without love in some form. None of us feels inclined to engage with someone who we know doesn't like us.
Love for our fellow man and woman is easy to lose some days, and impossible to fake, yet the solo performer has to find a way to maintain it every night he performs. Just about every song is about humans and their relationships with each other so it's safe to assume the songwriter is interested in people, but loving them can be difficult.
The trick I've learned on my current trip is imagine being reincarnated before every show. Every audience is an unexplored universe, every song a child's first attempt to communicate. I don't know why but it seems to work.
Maybe taking this reincarnated approach to each day of my real life is worth trying? I'll let you know how it goes.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Billy Bragg, Loudon Wainwright, Don Maclean, these guys can pull it off, but not many can. We are used to big production, lights, fireworks, costumes, all that nonsense, it really takes something to grab attention with just a guitar and a voice.
Humour helps. Get folks laughing and they'll listen for a while. Confidence in the songs helps too. Feeling good about the songs makes it easy to sell them. There is a whole list of skills and methods but I think there is something else at play. Without wishing to sound corny I believe it comes down to love for the people in front of the stage. No relationship between humans works without love in some form. None of us feels inclined to engage with someone who we know doesn't like us.
Love for our fellow man and woman is easy to lose some days, and impossible to fake, yet the solo performer has to find a way to maintain it every night he performs. Just about every song is about humans and their relationships with each other so it's safe to assume the songwriter is interested in people, but loving them can be difficult.
The trick I've learned on my current trip is imagine being reincarnated before every show. Every audience is an unexplored universe, every song a child's first attempt to communicate. I don't know why but it seems to work.
Maybe taking this reincarnated approach to each day of my real life is worth trying? I'll let you know how it goes.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Sunday, 5 September 2010
A Brief Portland Conversation.
"Are you guys hanging out for a while?"
"All day."
This about sums up the Portland attitude.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
"All day."
This about sums up the Portland attitude.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Saturday, 4 September 2010
Intensity.
Last night I played a weird kind of gig. The gig itself was pretty normal, I was weird.
I'm usually pretty relaxed and, dare I say, funny on stage. Last night I was in a dark mood, everything I said came out a little too intense and harsh. At the same time the songs came out with an emotional edge. This probably says something about me, that my emotional life is intense and doesn't communicate well to others, not until I'm playing and singing.
This is an interesting thing to learn about myself. It explains a lot about past relationships, why they were so confusing. When I'm relaxed and fun on stage the songs come out fine but not with the same raw emotion. It's like an on/off switch, but when the emotional Kent is on he is a little hostile.
I guess we all come with a unique mix of emotions and how they are expressed. I'm learning about mine a little later than most do. It's quite fun. Hopefully what I learn about myself on stage will translate to real life.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
I'm usually pretty relaxed and, dare I say, funny on stage. Last night I was in a dark mood, everything I said came out a little too intense and harsh. At the same time the songs came out with an emotional edge. This probably says something about me, that my emotional life is intense and doesn't communicate well to others, not until I'm playing and singing.
This is an interesting thing to learn about myself. It explains a lot about past relationships, why they were so confusing. When I'm relaxed and fun on stage the songs come out fine but not with the same raw emotion. It's like an on/off switch, but when the emotional Kent is on he is a little hostile.
I guess we all come with a unique mix of emotions and how they are expressed. I'm learning about mine a little later than most do. It's quite fun. Hopefully what I learn about myself on stage will translate to real life.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Miles On The Clock.
Most automobiles have a digital display of miles travelled. You'd never buy a car solely on how far it has gone, much depends on how it was driven, maintained, how much care the owner gave it.
Human age is just a digital display of how many years we've travelled. In relationships of any kind the number of years is much less important than how those years have been lived.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Human age is just a digital display of how many years we've travelled. In relationships of any kind the number of years is much less important than how those years have been lived.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Friday, 3 September 2010
Typos.
I can only apologize for the typographical errors over the last few weeks. Excuses? I've got plenty! I'm travelling with an iPod touch. I often have to post stuff quickly before the cafe wi fi connection drops and I have to start again. Editing on Blogger doesn't work so well on iPod.
Back to the trusty laptop next week. Oh yeah, I'm heading back to Australia next Sunday. No way around it. Plans for another trip are already afoot. Who wants to come with me?
Parkstreet.
Back to the trusty laptop next week. Oh yeah, I'm heading back to Australia next Sunday. No way around it. Plans for another trip are already afoot. Who wants to come with me?
Parkstreet.
Anti Americanism.
I once made a joke about wanting cheerleaders in my first music video. "It's a tradition", I claimed lamely. A friend claimed this idea was "so American". The assumption was that this was a bad thing.
Two thirds of an Arts degree at a third choice university informed her reactions to most ideas. The hilarious thing is that she sells dog bling for a living, stupid pet luxuries. Does anything reek of tacky L.A. more than that? She goes to work everyday and sells fashion for animals along with her soul.
In Australia we often import the worst of American culture, or the second rate version. It's not until you've lived amongst the Anerican culture, in America, that you get a feeling for what it's about.
For a start it is a whole bunch of different cultures, racially, geographically, in so many ways. American music makes sense in America, you can hear how the language and way of life inform it. Most anti American people listen to crap, soft imitations of American music.
The interesting thing is that Anerucans don't waste their time being anti Australian, or anti anyone else, they are too busy being positive and enthusiastic and getting on with it.
I'm going to be unpopular but I have to say it, American girls make Aussie girls look B grade. They can talk to me without asking what I want from them or what they can get from me. They have taken on feminism and gotten on with being women. They might disagree with me wanting the underpants of teenage girls featuring in my music video, but they could discuss if with me and actually listen to my point of view.
O.K., so I can't afford a cheerleader troupe. My first video with funding will feature cheerleaders. It won't feature dogs in cute little jackets.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Two thirds of an Arts degree at a third choice university informed her reactions to most ideas. The hilarious thing is that she sells dog bling for a living, stupid pet luxuries. Does anything reek of tacky L.A. more than that? She goes to work everyday and sells fashion for animals along with her soul.
In Australia we often import the worst of American culture, or the second rate version. It's not until you've lived amongst the Anerican culture, in America, that you get a feeling for what it's about.
For a start it is a whole bunch of different cultures, racially, geographically, in so many ways. American music makes sense in America, you can hear how the language and way of life inform it. Most anti American people listen to crap, soft imitations of American music.
The interesting thing is that Anerucans don't waste their time being anti Australian, or anti anyone else, they are too busy being positive and enthusiastic and getting on with it.
I'm going to be unpopular but I have to say it, American girls make Aussie girls look B grade. They can talk to me without asking what I want from them or what they can get from me. They have taken on feminism and gotten on with being women. They might disagree with me wanting the underpants of teenage girls featuring in my music video, but they could discuss if with me and actually listen to my point of view.
O.K., so I can't afford a cheerleader troupe. My first video with funding will feature cheerleaders. It won't feature dogs in cute little jackets.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Thursday, 2 September 2010
Fame.
Last night I had a small taste of what it's like to be famous. I do believe I quite liked it.
I played in a bar, the folks there were so welcoming and happy and willing me to succeed. They asked me questions and involved me like an old friend. Famous people often complain about this attention but I can't see why. It's really fun. It's like the payback for all the work and poverty.
The other night I overheard a football conversation, centred around a player whom everyone agreed played because he loved the game, not for the money. People recognize heart when they witness it. I reckon that if you are famous just for being famous it would feel hollow, whereas those who are famous for doing what they love seem able to accept fame graciously.
The risk of fame is confusing public image with reality. If you just do what you do the gap between is pretty small, easily reconciled. If you are nothing but a cardboard cutout then you'll disappear and only the two dimensional image will remain.
I'll take my chances, keep doing what I do. If it makes me famous I won't have a problem with it. Call me a tramp for attention, but I think I'd like it.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
I played in a bar, the folks there were so welcoming and happy and willing me to succeed. They asked me questions and involved me like an old friend. Famous people often complain about this attention but I can't see why. It's really fun. It's like the payback for all the work and poverty.
The other night I overheard a football conversation, centred around a player whom everyone agreed played because he loved the game, not for the money. People recognize heart when they witness it. I reckon that if you are famous just for being famous it would feel hollow, whereas those who are famous for doing what they love seem able to accept fame graciously.
The risk of fame is confusing public image with reality. If you just do what you do the gap between is pretty small, easily reconciled. If you are nothing but a cardboard cutout then you'll disappear and only the two dimensional image will remain.
I'll take my chances, keep doing what I do. If it makes me famous I won't have a problem with it. Call me a tramp for attention, but I think I'd like it.
Parkstreet.
www.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Wednesday, 1 September 2010
Give Me The Simple Life.
I recently read that getting to a simple life can be complicated. I love minor paradox. They often lead to bigger ideas, or at least giggles.
Sophistication is misunderstood. It doesn't mean complicated. We already have a word for complicated, it is "complicated".
Anything too complicated is usually crap, in my experience. Sophistication alludes to a broad knowledge, awareness, ability to assimilate and adapt due to experience and understanding. Flash cars and fashion food are not sophisticated. For the lack of a more literary description, fashion food is just dumb.
A sophisticated palate knows the joy of good bread, of simple honest food, of a simple honest life. Shedding the nonsense we associate with adulthood can be difficult, friends and family worry when you cease desiring the stuff they believed you desired. They ask stupid questions. Sometimes it feels easier to go with the flow and play the game but it isn't, it's easier to draw a line and say out loud,"that shit bores me".
If I can go anywhere in the world, break bread with strangers and feel at home then I'm happy. If I need the milk in my latte at a certain temperature before I'm satisfied I'll never be happy.
Parkstreet.
wee.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
Sophistication is misunderstood. It doesn't mean complicated. We already have a word for complicated, it is "complicated".
Anything too complicated is usually crap, in my experience. Sophistication alludes to a broad knowledge, awareness, ability to assimilate and adapt due to experience and understanding. Flash cars and fashion food are not sophisticated. For the lack of a more literary description, fashion food is just dumb.
A sophisticated palate knows the joy of good bread, of simple honest food, of a simple honest life. Shedding the nonsense we associate with adulthood can be difficult, friends and family worry when you cease desiring the stuff they believed you desired. They ask stupid questions. Sometimes it feels easier to go with the flow and play the game but it isn't, it's easier to draw a line and say out loud,"that shit bores me".
If I can go anywhere in the world, break bread with strangers and feel at home then I'm happy. If I need the milk in my latte at a certain temperature before I'm satisfied I'll never be happy.
Parkstreet.
wee.myspace.com/kentparkstreet
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