Money Worries

Today I got into a very good conversation about money and creativity with Ali, namely: why is it that people in control of money are often the most creatively challenged? This is a long-debated question in the Arts, and the reason why we have to put up with endless barrages of the “next big thing,” which is really a recycled last thing that was, in truth, never that big at all. It is in no way conclusive that money and creativity are on opposing sides; in fact, they often share the playing field. Coomaraswamy wrote it best: “Whereas it was once the highest purpose of life to achieve freedom from oneself, it is now our will to secure the greatest possible measure of freedom for oneself, no matter from what.”

Money, like every other substance, is first and foremost an energy, and how we make and spend it directly coincides with our relationship to our personal concept of duty. Our mode of life – the “deck we’ve been given to play with” – fluctuates by how it is that we play (a nicer idea than “exist,” “live” or the dreadful “make a career”). When we cultivate a deep understanding of wealth, that it is a communal energy and should be distributed with caution, certainly, but also compassion and understanding, worries about hoarding capital dissipate. It is only a fearful relationship developed within ourselves that creates worries over finance (note: not about having, but keeping and distributing meagerly), a process that spills into every facet of our being.

Money, one of the most demanded instruments in our culture, too often takes precedence over numerous others: health, well-being, family (not supporting one with shelter, food, clothing, etc, but actively participating in it on a committed level) and so on. The paradox we smash into is that in order to make more money we place ourselves into mentally unstable situations because we’re forever raising the demands we place onto ourselves; if we envisioned what we actually need to survive, instead of the manner by which we create illusions of necessity, how different our conceptions of wealth would be!

Worries of money points toward a general lack of faith in a higher order. Faith implies you will be taken care of by an infrastructure other than the office you work inside or the doctor that prescribes to you. If you cultivate an open relationship with internal certainty (which is essentially what faith is) there need not be concerns about survival – in fact, you’ll most likely live for just as long as you should! Granted, it might not be the exact survival you imagined for yourself, but what dangers in always thinking ahead. The task at hand is to notice your immediate surroundings; if you cannot be faithful in this moment, the future truly has nothing to offer.

The relationship between creativity and money, then, is an interesting terrain to survey. It is a recurring mythology that the artist creates something out of nothing (and the parallel of this to scriptural divinity) while those with something do nothing with it. It is not always the case that nothing leads to something, nor that holding (ownership is too strong a word) something does not propel more something; yet a general folklore repeats this story of the starving dying, eating little, or, in fairy tales, winning the gold. I suppose, again, it depends on how you play this game.

I wonder about the people with something. Where does the power struggle originate, this push-and-pull obsession with either a) keeping money secure, b) gaining more of it or, as they are usually siblings, c) both? This constant chess is a most circuitous route, and yet, we come to realize: this is the creation of art itself! We do not actually create art; Art creates us. If we want to open a serious dialogue about that which cannot be spoken of, this eternal energy we have words to signify without defining, we must understand our roles of transmitters of this energy; the more we believe ourselves to own it, the further from it we are. One can only push the square through the circle so many times before realizing it’s the wrong hole.

When we see our lives in this light, as part of a process that is immutable and continuous, we realize there is nothing to worry about. Without this inner completion, the power struggles we see surrounding not only money, but political, social and spiritual dealings, keep us in static. For a clear signal, worries are an energetic connection we need to unplug. Anxiety is the mark of believing that our lives have no greater purpose than the acquisition of goods.

Then what is the purpose? Creation of course! We are nothing save the process we are involved in naturally; as Alan Watts noticed, we are not born into this world, but from it. Everything is cyclic – it is born, grows, bears itself, lives, dies. The most graceful examples of existence are uncluttered, free to exist in splendor. When you enter the thick of the forest weeds suffocate the wildlife; none pass through dead ends. The most direct path to the light fosters the greatest warmth.

For those with nothing, have faith! If your creation arises from a place of purity in intention and expression, it is involved in the clear process. Fear, self-doubt, suffering, these are weeds we need not let clutter our paths. The artist travels with a pen and scythe, never showing the latter, being secure in the knowledge of its operation.

New Music & The Return of Xeroxing

The cycles are confounding. I remember in college printing up homemade zines of poetry for myself and friends, cutting and pasting photos, poems and stories onto 8.5 x 11 paper and xeroxing them, either at the student center at Rutgers or, more beneficial to the college budget, a copy machine I could get a hold of free. This began at the age of 18, and 12 years later I'm essentially doing the same thing, only with a cable connection and virtual warehouse of my books which only become printed when the demand hits. And this demand is what I spend much of my day trying to create.

With the movie about to begin shooting, I realize that visual representation is the key to selling books - an irony, for sure, but nevertheless the rules of the day. Not that rules are steadfast; surely there are other doors to this labyrinth. Yet I remember telling Dax before Global Beat Fusion was even close to reality that I'd be selling more copies in five years than the first year of publication, and this is something I hold true in my heart. This scene is too important and too groundbreaking to remain in the shadows. Musically, it's where cultures are heading, and to many of us, already is.

So enough about the makeshift techniques of publishing; I'll save those rants for another day. If we think the music industry is dated, and that these shifts occuring in downloading, new ways of presenting and experiencing music, and all the chaos of a dying few companies trying to maintain a control that was never their own, take a gander into the world of book selling, where the scene is still surveyed by 19th century technology. Blogs are an obvious revolution, and are POD books; yet the traditional arena remains exactly that. And given the tactile nature of books (against mp3 conversion of music - I really don't believe eBooks are the answer here), this is an empire that could continue to reign for some time.

On to the music. A friend sent me an email the other day talking about an article she read on Outkast, and how Dre said something to the effect that he listens to silence because there's no good music being made (this is second hand knowledge; I will seek out this exact quote and return when I can). I've heard this argument before from others, however, and am struck by what a close-minded, near idiotic statement this is. Wait - forget the "near," we are in true idiocy. The problem isn't no good music, it's too much. I can barely keep up and am overwhelmed constantly by all the goodness I receive in the mail. That complaint is an apathetic, self-serving comment that really means "no one is making music like me, so nothing is good," and to such a nonsensical statement, I rebut with a few damn good examples of why that argument is moot.

Zanzibara 1 & 2 on Buda Musique picks up where the Ethiopiques series continues, surveying the Arabic/Africa sounds of this small island off the coast of Tanzania. The first edition covers the legendary Ikhwani Safaa Musical Club, which has been informing the region of important taraab sounds for some time. It's a stellar disc, but the second volume is where it's at: vintage, crackling sounds of gorgeous folk rhythms from '65-'75 by, subtitled Golden Years of Mombasa taraab. Ethiopiques returns with edition number 21, the most quiet to date - a gorgeous solo piano outing by Emahoy Tseque-Maryam Guebrou.

Tibetan artist Yungchen Lhamo returns with Ama, 10 beautifully crafted songs exploring her native Buddhism's spiritual aspects. Leaving Tibet in '89 to find a less oppressive government in Australia, and now living in New York City, she continues touring the globe spreading the minimal strains of her cherubic voice. The songs "9/11," an obvious tribute, is one of the most haunting, heartbreaking tracks recorded in some time. Featuring Annie Lennox and Joy Askew, as well as instruments like the African kora, floating string sections and Arabic percussion, Ama is certain to call for multiple plays in your stereo and heart.

The "Golden Voice of Mali" returns with M'Bemba, a more electric response to his last quiet Moffou. However, Salif Keita doesn't lose any of that memorable luster in his throat. Scorn since childhood begin an albino in the arid land of Mali, Keita has become one of the land's most important musical figures. Keita stretches out with the addition of Afro-Cuban rhythms and French chansons informing his soul-filled, bluesy blend of acoustic and rock tempered homeland tunes. A huge success on the international touring circuit, this former member of the infamous Rail Band has time and again proven strength through adversity, and this latest outing only solidifies any former objection.

Lastly, I'll leave this review of I penned of the incredible Nuru Kane record to speak for itself...

NURU KANE
Sigil (Riverboat Records/World Music Network)

“I want to forget all my past music,” Nuru Kane tells me from his studio just outside of Paris. “With Bayefall Gnawa, we have just built the first floor of a house. I hope to build 7 floors, 10 floors. But to build 10 floors will take a lot of work.” Bayefall is the name of his Sufi faith, indicating his Senegalese homeland; gnawa, of the Moroccan musical style he fell in love with years ago. Upon discovering North African trance music, he picked up the bass lute guimbri and never turned back. Sigil, recorded with his band (Bayefall Gnawa), amazingly ties together his deep loves for gnawa ceremonial music with Malian blues; hence, influences of Ali Farka Toure and Hassan Hakmoun abound. Most impressive is not Kane’s ability to record these two styles on one record, but in one song. Hearing the ripping pentatonic scales of Mississippi madness above the krakeb (metal castanets) claps on “Cigil,” complete with a ripping, grainy electric solo, and the guimbri-driven “Colère” ensure Kane’s place as a true innovator of African folk styles. His inclusion of other instruments – oud, handclaps, violin, Welsh flute, djembe and, most interestingly, a beautiful accordion section on “Diarama” – shows his willingness to experiment in a variety of modes. And for all the skilled musicianship occurring throughout Sigil’s 13 tracks, it is the most quiet that are most impressive: “Goree,” an ultra-bluesy acoustic number sounding like an outtake from the Toure/Cooder sessions, and the opening “Toub.” There’s such an element of soul searching in that first song you just know the rest of the record will follow suit. And that it does.

Bringing forth our own mythology

Came across this reading last week, been on my mind quite a bit. It's from Heinrich Zimmer's Philosophies of India:

"We of the Occident are about to arrive at a crossroads that was reached by the thinkers of India some seven hundred years before Christ. This is the real reason why we become both vexed and stimulated, uneasy yet interested, when confronted with the concepts and images of Oriental wisdom. This crossing is one to which the people of all civilizations come in the typical course of the development of their capacity and requirement for religious experience, and India's teachings force us to realize what its problems are. But we cannot take over the Indian solutions. We must enter the new period our own way and solve its questions for ourselves, because though truth, the radiance of reality, is universally one and the same, it is mirrored variously according to the mediums in which it is reflected. Truth appears differently in different lands and ages according to the living materials out of which its symbols are hewn.

Concepts and words are symbols, just as visions, rituals, and images are: so too are the manners and customs of daily life. Through all of these a transcendent reality is mirrored. They are so many metaphors reflecting and implying something which, though thus variously expressed, is ineffable though thus rendered multiform, remains inscrutable. Symbols hold the mind to truth but are not themselves the truth, hence it is delusory to borrow them. Each civilization, every age, must bring forth its own.

We shall therefore have to follow the difficult way of our own experiences, produce our own reactions, and assimilate our sufferings and realizations. Only then will the truth that we bring to manifestation be as much our own flesh and blood as is the child its mother's; and the mother, in love with the Father, will then justly delight in her offspring as His duplication. The ineffable seed must be conceived, gestated, and brought forth from our own substance, fed by our blood, if it is to be the true child through which its mother is reborn: and the Father, the divine Transcendent Principle, will then also be reborn - delivered, that is to say, from the state of non-manifestation, non-action, apparent non-existence. We cannot borrow God. We must effect His new incarnation from within ourselves. Divinity must descend, somehow, into the matter of our own substance and participate in this peculiar life-process."

Chocophiles Unite

So while my passion for tea is well broadcast, the indulgence of chocolate is an equally powerful pastime. So $45 was a worthwhile fee to attend the “International Chocolate Extravaganza” at the 92nd St Y on March 8. Considering my love for global music, this art is equally intriguing, and enjoyable.

The evening began with a panel discussion with four chocolate connoisseurs: Joan Coukos (Chocolat Moderne), Martine Leventer (Martine’s Chocolates), Kee Ling Tong (Kee’s Chocolates) and Clay Gordon, chocolate “critic” and founder of the New World Chocolate Society. Obviously I, like everyone in attendance, was there for the tasting. Yet my expectations were surprised as these four industry insiders were not overly self-indulgent by any means. They didn’t offer up too much information, true, but were, at least, entertaining. The only downside was the moderator, a “culinary historian” exhibiting the exact tendencies I feared: pretentiousness, high-browed commentary and painfully indulgent need to over-pronounce everything in French.

I won’t drag on about them, but suffice to say Clay Gordon was enjoyable – the most outspoken, and while admittedly high-falutin he wasn’t annoyingly snobbish. He’s that distant cousin you are obligated to visit every summer, the one who is always besting himself by buying a new grill to BBQ on, insists on telling you every spice inside his homemade marinade and how fresh the chicken is, as well as the one that doesn’t allow anyone to touch said grill even though he complains intermittingly about how much work he’s doing while simultaneously slugging back can after can of Coors Light. You know the guy.

His comment about the unnecessary labeling of chocolate as a “wonder health food packed with antioxidants” was not only misleading, but unfounded, brought rabid applause. While raw cacao has many beneficial effects we rarely buy 100% cacao beans in the market. His remarks, consented by everyone else, were to enjoy chocolate because it’s chocolate. Reason enough for me.

45 long minutes and we were sent off to the tasting rooms like a pack of wild banshees.

OK, maybe I was the only banshee, but I wasn’t going to let a bunch of 65-year-old women stand in my way. The rest of this brief note is to comment on some of the chocolate we ate – no, not taste, as the obnoxious moderator warned us (“remember people, we are hear to taste – I repeat taste – not eat, our chocolate”). If it goes into my mouth I’m eating it. Leave me alone, I didn’t pay $45 to hear you ramble on about nothing much at all.

I’m not sure where we started, or ended, to be frank. So chronology isn’t going to help me. Instead, I’ll do it the easy way – by making a list.

Crave Crème Glacée served up their sinful truffle, a bittersweet chocolate ice cream with Grand Marnier. It tasted something like an orgasm in a small plastic wine glass.

Kee’s Chocolate, owned by the same Kee that spoke, was ridiculous. First, a dark chocolate bonbon filled with kumquat, followed by another laced with sesame seeds. The first was the smoothest I tasted all night, in a combination I had never imagined; in fact, both were new to me. During the talk Kee commented first “I don’t really like sweets” with a blushing face, and then went on to mention how she likes to sit around and mix things with chocolate to find those combinations. Now, I’m sure this is something all of these people do, but remember they get paid to do that. Then again I get paid to teach people how to stand on their head and breathe with their lower lungs, so why am I complaining.

Martine’s Chocolates, another speaker-owned shop, featured a raspberry truffle that received the Derek and Nikki approved winner of the night. They had some other petty stuff that was decent, but this puppy exploded in sweetness. Martine is from France so can speak the language without being annoying, and moved to America to get married and open a chocolate shop. I’m glad her dream manifested; the bonus is the shop is a block from Nikki’s apartment.

Chocolat Moderne is not a storefront shop but a supplier, owned by speaker Joan. She came across some chocolate molds in Brussels and decided to pursue this path in America. Her pistachio truffle had all the gorgeous grittiness of Indian sweets, while the honey one was less appealing. But the true highlight of the night (because I got to take it home) was the can of Kama Sutra hot chocolate I’m sipping on right now. Filled with coconut and cardamom, it hands down is the best I’ve ever had, destroying my previous favorite by Vosges. I mean, destroying, really.

Maison Pralus-Choclaterie doesn’t have a website, though should. They were, pound for pound, the top overall company. They didn’t have one standout like the others, but every one of the five I tried ranged from damn good to really really goodly good. They were unique in their smokiness; the Madagascar blend tasted is if charred for a few moments before packaging, giving it a distinct and inviting flavor. Their bars are available, however, at Chocosphere and Chef-Shop, as well as at Dean & Deluca and Murray’s Cheese Shop on Bleecker St.

Payard Pâtisserie & Bistro had these godlike earl grey truffles that were unbelievable. They quickly turned me into a believer. They had some others that were tasty, but really, all I can recall is that bergamot.

Michel Cluizel is in the basement of ABC Home Carpet in Union Square. I’m sure they have some good schwag; the store is ridiculous. Their selection for this night, a Madagascar something or other, was fine, nothing to write about, so I’ll stop. The man serving them also annoyed me, so I was thankful there weren’t two moderators.

Green & Black’s were also representing. The most mainstream of this bunch, you can find their sweetness nearly everywhere, so I didn’t further fill my tummy on this one – though I did snag a small taste of the Maya Gold, an orange-and-spice filled treat worth its weight in Incan currency.

Neuchatel Choclates was serving chocolate-covered animal crackers and pretzels. Useless.

Guittard Choclate Company handed us something that tasted like cardboard.

As for drinks, Sanfaustino was serving up their calcium water that tasted like, well, water. Gotham Wines & Liquor had a damn sweet wine that I loved and didn’t ask for its name, as well as a tasty Taylor Port. And busting out their own fusions, the beverage highlight was SerendipiTea, which has been brewed at my favorite tea spot, The Soy Luck Cafe, on Greenwich near Integral Yoga. On the way to the chocolate show I actually stopped into Soy Luck and grabbed a cup of their Yoda blend – cardamom, cinnamon and cloves. Like all good stories, this one ends in a circle, back to tea, my first love, with a company that can, if they tried, and I’ll support them in doing so, run Moby’s head into an espresso machine.

Decoding a new old genome

The March 7 NY Times featured an article titled “Still Evolving, Human Genes Tell New Story.” Centered around a recent study concerning adaptive traits of human genomes, the results favored the idea that we have not stopped evolving since our agricultural roots some 10 millennia ago. While the mapping of genomes is a regular initiative of modern science, the premise – we’ve stopped evolving, consistently touted by scientists – highlights a continual trend of removing humanity from the rest of nature.

One of the crucial traits of self-knowledge is transience, practically a science of its own: we change, emotional and physical bodies, just as everything surrounding us alters. Science does not have to follow traditional religion in their banishment of humans from this planet, yet such theories coincide with the notion that there is a heaven, we are not there (nor can ever get there), and earth is a temporary home in which we are judged. The non-evolution (or, better put, stopped-evolution) idea is an unfortunate stumble into a self-serving blind alley. Whose self, exactly, its serving is not quite clear.

“Even evolutionary psychologists hold that the work of natural selection in shaping the human mind was complete in the pre-agricultural past more than 10,000 years ago.” How a community, using the very instrument they are frustrating with nonsense, could claim our mind is at a standstill is boggling. One of science’s main research goals over the past century+ has been development in medicine. If our diseases can evolve and adapt, common currency in medical gymnastics, how are we separate from that which ails us? How are we removed from anything we inhabit ? As Alan Watts ingeniously realized, we are not born into this world, but from it. If the world evolves, so must we.

And we do, in literature, music, arts, sciences, philosophy. It is true, the basic fundamentals are encoded within us, have always been instructional and inherent for us to utilize. More than evolving, we are constantly remixing ourselves, but this ingenuity has to go by the name Darwin injected into public consciousness. We are not stagnant creatures, existing helplessly, aimlessly, while the world happens. We can study and research ourselves until blue in the face; it’s like biting your own teeth and not tasting a thing. If we study nature, what’s around us, what we’re inside of, we may get a better grip on awareness of who we are. That is, we simply need to look outside the vacuum of ourselves. Some things you simply can’t decode, even if you believe the story new.

The Necessity of Play

Revisited this quote from Campbell in Primitive Mythology today - a fitting capitulation of so much of our lives:

“Best of all, however, is the gift of immaturity itself, which has enabled us to retain in our best, most human, moments the capacity for play. In puppyhood animals show a capacity for play, when they are protected from the dreadful seriousness of the wilderness by the guardianship of parents; and practically all make a charming display of it again in courtship. However, in man – or perhaps we should say, rather, in the best of men, though indeed in the majority of women – the capacity is retained throughout life. It is, in fact, only those who have failed, one way or another, in their manhood or womanhood, who become our penny-dreadfuls, our gorillas and baboons.”'

Movie progressing slowly, in the contractual phrase. Once we have all the equipment and are rolling in April, daily posts to come. Axel, Mike and I are in the planning/scripting process now, which is spawning daily ideas...more goodies soon....