SJ Tucker

One of my favorite all-time pagan artists that I’ve discovered is SJ Tucker, both as herself and as Tricky Pixie. Discovery rights go to K’ia Dragon of Pagan Chaos Magic – at least, that’s how I discovered her music.

I understand she’s fairly popular in multiple circles, but there’s a reason for that. The two albums I own most of are Mythcreants and Blessings; Mythcreants is just plain fun. There’s a ten minute song retelling of Tam Lin that’s fantastic, and a few other notable fun tracks – Taglio and Water’s In The Hold for me, but most of the album is pretty solidly along the same lines. The lyrics are all myth, magic,and the great outdoors, running a gamut between vaguely creepy to humorous. It’s folk music, so there’s guitar, fiddle, and various percussion, etc.

Thank all gods for the percussion. Without something to hold a tune together, whether it’s tambourine or a full drum kit, my attention span falls apart in moments. It’s a personal fluke, but it means that a lot of “stripped down” and live recordings drive me up the wall.

Firebird’s Child, off of Blessings, has percussion, singing, and no other instrumentals, and that works better for me than the other way around. Blessings was written with pagans in mind – many of the tracks work well as bonfire chants, mood music, or ritual mood music. Personally, I like Firebird’s Child and Hymn to Herne best, but again, the whole album is pretty cohesive. The lyrics are really where it shines – they manage to walk the line between magically symbolic and completely hokey without ever crossing too far into the wrong side. If everything else I’ve ever seen is any indication, that’s a really difficult balance to maintain.

In conclusion, here’s Tam Lin. I hope you enjoy it!

Blessed Be,

Pennanti  

Announcing a Weekly Pagan Musician Spot:

It’s been established in previous posts that I don’t know anything about music. My ear is so bad that foreign language songs make exactly as much sense as English ones do, lyrically speaking, and I frequently try to describe music in physical terms. (Am I the only one who thinks Dave Matthews voice sounds like jello? Taun-Taun assures me this is so.)

Nevertheless, I really love trying to find new music, especially pagan music, if only because the field is darn confusing. A Darker Shade of Pagan gives me a weekly fix of the goth stuff; other podcasts also occasionally provide, but mostly I stumble around the internet like a wounded chicken – afraid of viruses, hoping for the best, and with an attention span of about 10 minutes.

I have managed to collect together a bunch of artists of varying styles and quality, though. My definition of “pagan music” is fairly broad – music by pagans, or music for pagans, or music that appeals to me for pagan-ish subtext, basically. See, I love Lady Gaga, and Girl Talk is my mp3 player’s new BFF, but it doesn’t really count as “pagan music” even though it appeals to me. Eluveitie, on the other hand, has a mythological subtext that I really love as well, so it counts. (Speaking of foreign languages, no, I have no idea what they mean. I just sort of imagine a story to go with it.)

So, starting on Wednesday, I’m going to start running a weekly music review for a bit. Just one artist at a time, what I like and don’t like, and I might squeeze a guest post out of Taun-taun every now and then. (He *does* know quite a bit more about music than me. If you want anything cohesive, you should wait for him.) Appropriate links to youtube, myspace, or personal band pages will also be provided as appropriate.

I may also branch out to ‘well-known’ pagan artists that drive me bonkers, if I can find at least one song I like, but there’s certain styles of folk that are very, very difficult to do correctly.

In theory, thinking about it more often will help me find more albums and bands that I like. In practice, I’m hoping one of my 10 readers chimes in with some suggestions!

Blessed Be,

Pennanti.

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.

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Feminism and Me: Not so much a love story...

One of the people I spoke to last Saturday invited me to register a stall at an annual Dyke Fest happening next year - they like supporting and encouraging women-run businesses and crafts. I said I'd think about it, because I don't know what I'll be up to next year, but I like to be open to new things.

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.

Piss.

Off.

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.

Rochester PPD

Rochester Pagan Pride Day was this weekend! And it was made out of awesome and rainbows. I tried my hand at being a vendor this year. It’s been in the back of my head for years – I like woodburning, and making things, and the things I make don’t really look like most of the other widgets currently on the craft market. I really want to do it again. I met a whole ton of other people, vendors and guests alike, and I got to talk to people all day. I also broke even, and considering I’ve barely got my shit together, in the display and inventory-side of things, that’s a fairly good sign. I named my stall Pennywoods on the fly when I filled out the form, and as you can see, I liked the name enough that I changed my blog too. :) I may set up an etsy at some point, or some other website, since it was requested a few times, but it may take a bit. The second-to-best part of doing this was finding out what most people are actually looking for in the wand-and-rune-set market, and I need to adjust and experiment on some of my designs. The best part? I’m setting up a coffee moot! There’s a few organized pagan churches in Rochester, and Psychic’s Thyme runs classes, but the only social moot is in Henrietta and it’s on a Thursday once a month. A lot of people can’t make it, and there’s no other organized thingy for just getting together and chatting. I find it frustrating. So I set up a Facebook event, printed out some business-type cards, and passed them out all day. There was a lot of interest! So, if you’re in the Rochester area, look it up – Rochester Pagan Coffee Moot (creative, huh?) – and if you’re not, wish me luck! Blessed Be! Pennanti

Y Chromosome Troubles

TaunTaun here again. Pagan pride day was overall a pretty good experience, but it always seems to bring up a particular issue for me. Most branches of paganism I've run across generally tend to have a feminine-centered type of outlook, what with the whole goddess thing, which is both fine, and expected. I HAVE had a few of the more militant Dianics get kind of nasty at me, but if we judged everyone by their extremists, I don't think there'd be anything left in the world to like.

Anyway, pagan pride day. Lots of goddess-oriented things for sale, goddess chants, goddess-centric groups, so on and so forth. There wasn't any actual discrimination or anything of the kind, just sort of a general lack of mention of the god. Which has always bothered me. I understand a lot of modern pagan traditions got their start in the 60s and 70s, so they were tied up with the feminist movements of the time. But it's 2011. I feel like the tables have turned all the way around to the point where pagan men are just sort of a "oh yeah, sure, I guess you can come too" add-on to goddess worship. At some of these things I feel like I'm the only one holding it down for the Horned One. We were married in sight of and in the name of the lord and lady, and our vows were said together, as "We do". I guess I'd like the same kind of experience out of the rest of my religious goings-on.

I don't know, maybe I'm not looking in the right places or I haven't gone to the right rituals(the Great Rite stays in-house, thank you very much). But as pagans, we do our best to be accepting and non-judgemental of others. So why, some days, do I feel like we don't extend our own the same courtesy? I've hit this particular brick wall a number of times now, with varying levels of vehemence running the gamut from things as innocuous as my wife getting invited to "Connecting to the goddess within you" workshops to a death glare that said "I was talking to your owner, male pig."

Don't get me wrong, I haven't got any problems with my relationship with the goddess, either in physical form or spiritual, when I say hi out at the fire at night. But as a fairly active guy, it's generally the god that I high-five after a big accomplishment. What I really want to know is, what's wrong with that, and why can't I find anybody else who does the same?

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The Mists of Avalon

I read The Mists of Avalon for the first time this week. I’m pretty sure that makes me a bad pagan, that it took me so long to get around to it. My mother owned it when I was in high school – it was on her shelf, I just never picked it up.

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