Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Amon Amarth- a TaunTaun music review
Friday, September 23, 2011
Happy Mabon!
I've been sitting here organizing whatever music seems "Mabony" (Mabonish? Mabonlike?), and it's making me realize that I have conflicted views on what this holiday entails. It's also making me realize I have time to organize music, and I'm deeply grateful for that, too, but still confused.
On the one hand, Mabon is essentially pagan Thanksgiving - an extra one, but still carries 'Thanksgiving' connotations for me. What that means, musically, is that I immediately lean towards irish and guitar instrumentals, because that's what my family always played as background Thanksgiving music.
Of course, Thanksgiving makes me think of family, so I also want songs about family or that remind me of family.
Except, Mabon is about the turn of the season to the Holly King, and the waning of the Oak King. So suddenly songs about goodbyes, endings, and lost things start to creep in.
And naturally, as the Equinox, it's also about the slow growth of the night. And that brings out the goth music, the slightly creepy lyrics, and songs that evoke the general anxiety that comes with being thankful for the second harvest - but worried about the third and last, and the length of the winter beyond that.
Of course, anxiety, over-planning, and family holidays go together like a pair of gloves, so there's more overlap inside my head than you'd think. After a bit of rearranging, I struck on the idea that the popular, more mainstream songs should head first - it's better cooking music - followed by the songs that are slowly, or clumsily, topical (sort of.), ending with the instrumentals. Which range from Irish jigs to this French dude I found on Jamendo who makes awesome background music filled with trepidation.
In conclusion, this is my two 1/2 hour playlist for Mabon:
Show Your ColoursShow Your Colours by Lonely Drifter Karen
Brother by Murder By Death
Artist in the Ambulance by Thrice
Time Is Running Out by Muse
Say Goodbye by DMB & Phish
White Light by Gorillaz
'til My Dying Days by Glengarry Bhoys
20/20 by Josh Woodward
Don't Go by TenPenny Joke
Bye Bye Beautiful by Nightwish
Last Dance by The Raveonettes
A Hole In The World by Thursday
Something Sacred by Kellee Maize
Witch's Rune by S.J.Tucker
My Destiny by Leaves' Eyes
Rose Red by Woodland
The Mabon by Damh The Bard
Scarborough Fair by Leaves' Eyes
Equinox by Noblesse Oblige
Hunter by Pandemonaeon
Raven's Lore by Spiral Dance
Water's In The Hold by Tricky Pixie
Mabon by Threefold
Chickies In The House by Tricky Pixie
Breath by Petite Viking
Level by Petite Viking
The Red-Haired Boy by Al Petteway
Arianrhod by Faith & The Muse
Instrumental by Hadrian's Wall
Roadside Jigset by Hadrian's Wall
Elbow Grease and Whiskey by Hadrian's Wall
Patterns in the Ivy by Opeth
Salt River by Petite Viking
Well, that was a total linkstorm. Most go to full recordings, hope you like something!
Blessed Be!
Pennanti
Thursday, September 22, 2011
An especially nerdy Mabon
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
SJ Tucker
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Announcing a Weekly Pagan Musician Spot:
Monday, September 19, 2011
Monday Morning Rant- Life is not a game
TaunTaun again, here under notice that if I keep doing this, I’m going to have to get my own blog. Pfft. Anyway, the title of today’s official, yet not-exactly-pagan Monday Morning Rant doesn’t mean that I think everything should be all serious business, all the time. Kind of the opposite, actually. Today, we cover a monster pet peeve of mine- people who lack the ability to let things go. I’m not talking about holding a grudge, or staying upset about something longer than may be reasonable. No, today’s grumblings are about people who like to treat life like a game scored in points. Apparently, the way you get points is by being an obstinate jerk to everyone around you.
Well, that’s somewhat inflammatory, isn’t it? Let me explain via example. Exhibit A- You’re driving down the highway when you see somebody tailgating you. Do you react by getting over a lane and letting this person pass you, because hey, if they want to get a speeding ticket, you won’t stop them? Or do you slow down to ten miles below the speed limit to teach that jerk a lesson, and that’ll show him? If you chose option two, I have bad news- you’re an asshole. No, the guy behind you shouldn’t have been tailgating you, and that’s his fault. Likewise, by slowing down, you’re creating MORE of an accident risk, slowing down everyone else behind you, and you’ve upgraded the guy behind you from Bad Driver to Angry Bad Driver. Sorry, you don’t collect any XP or gold, but you might get the Tire Iron Through The Window achievement if you pissed off the wrong person.
Exhibit B finds us looking back at my college days, to my roommate for about two weeks in my senior year. I'd had a spectacular streak of luck with roommates in prior years, all of whom were clean, quiet, and overall nice guys. In fact, I was pretty much the lousy one in those situations. But I got a bit of comeuppance on that year. This roommate kept ludicrous hours and threw tantrums when I would ask him to turn his music down a little at 4:30 AM. He ate nothing but delivery pizza and left all of it in the mini-fridge, leaving no room for anything else. He showered maybe once or twice in the three weeks I lived with him. But his crowning glory was his assertion that the fridge made too much noise at night, so he just unplugged it instead. You get the idea- total disaster. So I took the necessary steps to move the hell out, which were greatly sped up by my understanding RA. I told an acquaintance all this a few weeks after the fact, and the only observation was "Well, you were the one who moved out, so you kinda lost, you know? He gets to stay." This just blew my mind, really. I get what I want(a room not inhabited by a cousin of Jabba the Hutt),and somehow I've "lost"? Er...alright, then, I guess I'll go walk to the locker room hanging my head in shame. And then jump on my bed and have a one-man dance party. In my new single room. Yeah, I laugh like this every time I lose.
Exhibit C is something we all do to some extent, probably without even realizing it a lot of the time. We all like to talk about things we’re interested in with our friends, whether it’s movies, TV, music, video games, sports, or whatever you’re into. How many times have you been talking about something with someone, and gotten into an argument over who told who about it, or who was listening to it first, or some other point of contention that doesn’t make a freaking bit of difference? Okay, fine, you told me about this band. In fact, you know what, you invented them. You were their founding member. Can I go back to listening now? Awesome, thanks. Like I said, we’re all guilty of this at some point or another, but some people will just not rest until they get credit for telling you about that band you like, or that show you watched. Once again, no XP or gold for winning that battle. In fact, if you check your inventory, you might have lost a friend or two.
My question is, why? What do we get out of this kind of petty, arbitrary nonsense? When I catch myself doing this(because yeah, I do it too) ten minutes after the fact, I’ll stop and think “Why did I even care about that?” I don't pat myself on the back for a point well-argued, I mostly just wonder why I'm being such a stuck-up jerk. It’s not important. It doesn’t make my day better. Sometimes it makes it worse, in fact. One of the reasons why my marriage to Pennanti is in solid working order is the fact that we both hate this kind of thing. Don’t get me wrong, there are some things we’ll stay up arguing about until much later than we should have, but we like to think they’re serious issues that need resolving. These things do not include fighting over who did or didn’t do the dishes, or the laundry, or the kitty litter.
The words “I’m sorry”, “I was wrong” or “You were right” don’t taste all that great coming out, but they’re important ones if you plan on having functional social relationships that run on something other than shared spite, one-upmanship, and schadenfreude. Because sometimes, you ARE wrong. Sometimes, they're right. And sometimes you damn well should be apologizing. Seriously guys, let’s take a step back and consider what’s really worth making a stink about here. You might be pleasantly surprised at how much easier day-to-day living gets when you learn to stop, breathe, and just let stuff go. Life’s too short to keep a tally sheet.
end transmission
Friday, September 16, 2011
Feminism and Me: Not so much a love story...
Then I went home and Facebook immediately reminded me why I never actually attend feminism-oriented events, though I support them in theory: Status update - 'If you don't agree with feminism, then you should lose your right to [fill in a bunch of stuff here].' (paraphrased)
You couldn't launch me onto my high horse faster without help from the Mythbusters team. That, up there, is the crux of every single varied-decibel match I've ever had with a feminist...and I've had a lot. I think I might be alive right now because SUNY New Paltz FMLA couldn't afford to take a hit out on me.
If you can't see the irony in a feminist telling other women that they should lose their rights if they don't mindlessly agree, then you need an emergency room visit for chronic mental anemia. This isn't the first time I've run into the attitude, though. It's not even the 6th. Somewhere in third-generation feminism, every chick with an ax to grind decided she was the personal representation of feminism, and disagreeing with her is exactly the same as stabbing Susan B. Anthony in the back. (After saving Hitler with your time machine, I can only assume.)
It started with paintball club. Rather, we didn't have one, and someone decided to start one. Except FMLA stepped forward to argue that they shouldn't be allowed to form, because some dudes at some other college shot some women with paintball guns at some point in time. Paintball is, therefor, obviously anti-woman. The paintball rep stated they had a girl in the club - and they had to produce me as proof - in order to be approved.
Then I had to take a Woman's class for a pre-req. The professor, who defined the gender by a collection of shared flaws, weaknesses, and traumas, culminated the class by asking us to dump our boyfriends for our final project. I had to tell her I was a future FTM to pass.
I had a girlfriend who, after repeatedly calling me a 'bad lesbian' for not listening to certain bands or having seen certain movies, and refusing to believe that I was bisexual, yo, for realz, finally concluded I was a gender traitor.
I've had countless arguments on the topic of what I 'should' be wearing, who I 'should' be listening to, what my vote 'should' be, and how I'm betraying an entire force of history by not falling into auto-lockstep. Someone even managed to say, with a straight face, that I would be a great feminist if I would just stop arguing all the time, and put my faith in womyn. I've also been stuffed in lockers, beat up, gossiped about, told to sit down, shut up, be quiet, or stop reaching for what I want, and a woman has been at the other end every time. I do have good female friends, don't get me wrong, but bitches ain't shit till they establish some cred in these here parts.
It doesn't matter to me who is at the other end of "Sit down, shut up". 'But I'm a feminist!' is not a magic spell that will stop my reaction, which is fairly succinct.
Feminism is not an esoteric sphere that exists outside of human experience. It's a political movement at it's heart: Feminism is made of people identifying as feminists, and these are the people I run into, over and over and over. I can't wave them away with a wand and say, "They're not real feminists, so it doesn't count!" One, maybe. But they are legion, and I can't just summarily discount 30-odd extremist encounters in less than 5 years. Something in the subculture of the movement is spawning these people, and then they end up in positions of leadership. Pushing agendas I may or may not agree with. Taking media at it's word...or taking it way too far. And regularly becoming judgmental and divisive. Demanding the whole thing be taken as one pill - all 100-odd years of it - to swallow or reject wholesale? I don't buy it. And that, in a nutshell*, is my problem with the movement today.
In conclusion, I'm still considering the fair - I'm not going to write it off just because of repeated bad experiences - but Valium could feature in my marketing plan. And with all these bad examples of feminists gone wrong, may I please draw your attention to my new favorite style/fem power place on the 'net?
http://rookiemag.com/
Blessed Be,
Pennanti
*The fairytale nutshell, obviously - the sort that's big enough to fit dresses and castles and small laughing dogs.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Rochester PPD
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Y Chromosome Troubles
Monday, September 12, 2011
The Mists of Avalon
It may make me an even worse pagan that I didn’t really like it. Don’t get me wrong, there were things in the plot that I enjoyed. Morgaine’s analysis of the Guinevere/Lancelot relationship was one of the most cynical, biting things I’d ever seen. Lancelot and Arthur being implied totally gay for each other, and simply transposing it through Guinevere because it was the only acceptable way to express it, was also an interesting touch.
But the most sympathetic character, for me, in the whole book was Morgause, and she was evil as shit. Half the female characters spend all their time simply doing what they’re told and obeying some higher authority, be it their husband, lord, priestess, or priest. The other half get their stuff together and organize or pressure authority – and then spend most of their internal, quiet moments bemoaning the fact that they have to live under the stress of being in charge, and envying how much simpler it would be if they could just be like the first half. They daydream about how much more pleasant and enjoyable being under someone else’s thumb would be. If only they didn’t have to make all these pesky choices!
And then there’s Morgause, who makes decisions and lives with the consequences. Spends no time on self-pity. When she makes a mistake, she shrugs and makes the best of it, or fixes it, but spends almost no energy on whining about how circumstances made her make the mistake, and she’s got no way out. I don’t care if she practices black magick, I’d rather hang with her than anyone else. Yeah, I know, she’s basically a sociopath. It’s really f-ed up, that the only confident, grounded female character is psychotic.
Even Arthur, as he makes massive mistakes, owns his own problems. Everyone else, I just sort of want to take a bat to their head.
It’s the most anti-feminist ‘feminist’ book I’ve ever read, and I had some hard-core problems with the one feminist class I took in college. (For many of the same reasons. Defining an entire gender by supposedly shared weaknesses and traumas is just plain weird.)
Well, at least I read it.
Blessed Be,
Pennanti
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Monday Morning Rant: The Wise Mistik
This one is getting filed under “Pagan Pet Peeves”, though I could probably throw it under “New Age Personalities” just as easily. There’s a certain kind of person out there, who I’ve run into several times, who enters a ‘mode’ when they’re doing something New Agey. Their voice gets softer, higher pitched, and very, very dreamy. They stare deep into my eyes upon meeting, in an apparent attempt to “truly connect” to my inner person, and then promptly spend the rest of the conversation staring off blankly into space.
Honestly, if I thought these people were actually high, I’d cut them some slack. But they’re not. They’re acting out this bizarre interpretation of a wise mystic, filled with perfect trust and perfect love and oh-so-slightly more connected to karmic wafting than me. This is generally the purview of tarot readers, reiki practitioners, and teachers – anyone who’s trying too hard to gently remind everyone that they know more than their customers or students.
The Dalai Lama does not act like this, folks, and everyone who does drives me up the goddam wall.
They try so hard to “connect”, that they completely miss making an actual connection. Normally, I stand up and walk away. (I understand it’s part of some people’s shtick at Ren Faire, and I can appreciate a good marketing ploy, but still, eurgh) If I can’t though – if I’m in a class, or a workshop, or talking to someone nearby when Wise Mistik (sp intentional) pipes up – it brings out a very particular side. I’m not really trolling, at least not to the standards of the internet, but dry quips, pithy asides, and blasé statements meant for a giggle just start flowing freely. I can see it starting to slowly grate, but mostly I’m just aiming for a snerk. Maybe even a real smile.
When I want to connect to someone, I smile. If I’m really trying, then I try to make them laugh. Laughter is pretty much at the root of human connection, and if it’s uncomfortable, then something is wrong. Laughter does not undermine connection or understanding, it fosters it. Staring deeply into strangers’ eyes, while uttering breathy statements and nodding sagely, is the opposite of connection. It’s pantomime, a monologue designed with pauses for other actors to put in their own monologue bits, but no one is interacting.
Actually, I’ve seen Christian priests, and especially Sunday school teachers, who do the same thing. So I guess it’s not a New-Age specific personality, but I could do with it being a little less prevalent!
Ok, rant complete. Slack returning in 3…2…1…
Blessed Be!
Pennanti