Meta and Meta

My "True" Identity Revealed!

A few years back I joined a country band. Around the time the Dixie Chicks got Dixie Chicked, we enacted a rule that members keep their political and (ir)religious beliefs to themselves. I forthwith adopted my pseudonym, "Q" the Enchanter, so I could continue to blog without affecting the band's career. (For an explanation of the name, go here.)

But now I'm officially out of the band, and not inclined to stay in the closet about my "heterodox" political, religious and philosophical leanings. So then, my "true" identity is [drum roll]...Drake. (And, no, no relation.)

Nonetheless, given that "'Q' the Enchanter" is a much more distinctive...search string than 'Drake,' I'll continue to blog and comment under that name.

I Got Nothin'

Though there is a chance of the odd post here and there, blogging in this space will be more or less tolled till I get off the road in July...

Just Couldn't Stop Myself

Philosophy geeks might have noticed Brian Leiter's claim that analytic philosophy "does not even exist," as well as some of the rejoinders to Leiter (here, for example).

It all puts me in mind of an episode from a philosophy course I took at an undisclosed location. The year was 1998. The course, a seminar on moral epistemology. The exchange, as follows:

PROFESSOR (rhetorically, after brief discussion on the low esteem in which continental philosophy is generally held in the academy): What is the opposite of continental philosophy?
ME: Incontinental philosophy.

Best Bet

Well, I just told my bandmates that I'm out of the group. After more than six years, the time has come for other musical pursuits.

Given that we've seemed to be on the cusp of some grand success for the past four years, it wasn't an easy decision; as my dad joked, I could wind up being the Pete Best of [band name omitted to protect the innocent; and the guilty, for that matter]. And it certainly would suck (for me, anyway), for example, if six weeks from now the band ends up charting in a big way.

Still, as embittering as that kind of situation might seem, that I view it as possibly such only means I should have made this decision long ago; staying longer might well have driven me to even more intense bitterness (given the hefty opportunity costs involved). And in any case, success on the charts can't be as sweet as the freedom I feel at this moment.

Then again, get back to me in six weeks...

I' Hab' der Rhythmus

Some years ago I was living in Regensburg. One night, I went to see the World Saxophone Quartet perform at a local club. The place was packed.

At different points of the show, each member of the quartet would do an unaccompanied solo. When it came Julius' turn, he got the crowd clapping a simple beat, then started playing over the claps so that they came on beats two and four. And it swang.

But it apparently also confused the audience, and soon you could hear feet subdividing on one and three, with hands soon joining then supplanting the feet. Finally, the claps sounded all and only on beats one and three; the backbeat had been vanquished.

So, yeah, those Germans can be pretty square. Still, how cool is it that in a small town of 100,000 you could pack a house for the World Saxophone Quartet?

Bit Players

Among my many preoccupations (read: distractions from more active blogging) these days has been composing and recording short Celtic pieces for fiddle and guitar as source for a show on FX.

I compose these pieces blind (i.e., without seeing script or dailies or anything), so it is particularly odd seeing the finished product--some actor onscreen air-fiddling in the outdoors to stuff I recorded only afterward in my bedroom home studio.

No wonder these things always look so unconvincing.

You Might Be A Redneck...

[Treoblogging] "What time did we get back last night from hunting coyotes?"

We're holed up in the Ozarks with our gracious hosts, the "Hackett" family. The guys went out in the middle of the night with Papa Hackett to hunt coyotes. Yes, that's right.

Later, they told me how Papa Hackett uses a tape recording of a squeeling rabbit to draw the coyotes in. "Curly" the Bass Player said it was "pretty horrifying." I do not doubt him.

The Ladies' Man

Years ago I had a club date at the Commerce Casino lounge. It was a classy joint (like all casino lounges), and the crowd was predictably intoxicated, both by the booze and by our tender renditions of delightful numbers like "Baby Got Back." (I practiced guitar twelve hours a day for this?)

One gentleman, though, was conspicuously vocal in his appreciation of the band, and in particular of the female lead singer, Tina. As I bantered with him between songs, I detected a densely Texan drawl, heavily modulated by drunkenness. Needless to say, he made an amusing foil through the end of the set.

Afterward, I was outside the lounge taking a break with Tina and the bass player Jay (both of whom were black) when our friendly Texan (who was not) approached. Immediately, he began putting the moves on Tina.

"Man!" he exhaled, licking his lips, shaking his head incredulously, looking Tina up and down. "You are so hot."

His martini-in-hand drifted off up to the right, terminating in a lilt centered at toast-level, as he continued shaking his head and looking her up and down. "I mean, damn, you are hot."

Then he looked away , squinting thoughtfully, then looked back at Tina. Then, raising his eyebrows with all his might--not wanting to be misunderstood--he continued: "Now, I don't hate ni**ers..."

There's Always Metal Shop

Like most geniuses, I swing wildly back and forth between periods of intense productivity and periods of slothful indolence.

Unlike most geniuses, I'm not a genius.

Club Null

I don't care to belong to a club that would accept any members.