I really liked The Flaming Lips' Zaireeka that we took part in on Tuesday. I had done synchronization experiments before, both with Dark Side of the Moon with the Wizard of Oz and Laturalus with the Nightmare Before Christmas. I enjoyed it then, so being able to do something similar for a class was a pleasure to me. The part that I thought was best about the whole thing is that the experience is completely unique each time it's listened to, and in that regard is like listening to a new song each time. On the contrasting side of that, with the idea that you could sync up the stereos perfectly with the other it would create a sort of surround sound. Which was slightly before its time when the Zaireeka was recorded. I found our particular experience with the Zaireeka to be a definite exaggeration of how much it is supposed to run out of sync but enjoyed it very much nonetheless, if anything I like that we had such an unsynchronized rendition of the Zaireeka because that supports my claim that each experience is completely different. The way that the album unfolded I found to be very exciting because the music had a very familiar flavor alongside a sort of juxtaposition of intentions. Until we did this experiment I had only listened to Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots, which I really enjoyed. This however really solidified my taste for the Flaming Lips.
I walk into the classroom to find the desks in disarray, and ghetto blasters surrounding the room. Then I remember that post that I read a couple days prior. Oh today's that Flaming Lips Thing I sit on the ground with my back to the heater behind me as a support for my back and get out my composition note book to write down the observations I had and will make.
Finally we start and I hear four different audio tracks coming from each boom box "Track number one," from all of the stereos fallowed by a subsequent "one..." from the front "two.." from the left side "three..." from the back of the room where I was sitting "and four..." from the right side of the room. I thought that it would be four different songs that were meant to mesh with each other but it's something else entirely, each of the Cd's had a different part to the same song. The first song begins with some sweet bass guitar grooves and evolves quickly one instrument at a time until it's a complete song, at this point the stereos are almost right in sync, I enjoy the song.
The second song begins with drums that sound as though they are meant for battle, the different stereos are slightly out of sync now and each of them fight for beat supremacy. An eerie whisper is sounded by each of the stereos and as each one is ahead of the other it sounds as though the whisperer is circling around us as he does so. I see the title to be you're invisible now. I feel as though it is really reflecting the hollowing and translucent feel that the song, it's fallowed by a frightening scream that is sounded from all of the stereos. The song ends.
Next I hear the start of the next song. the stereos are more out of sync now. The song is called Thirty-Five Thousand Feet of Despair, but so far it doesn't have any feeling of despair at all, just the sound of jet turbines accelerating. Ambiance builds through the dis junked parts and the music feels very weightless. Then the music shifts into it's parallel minor key and begins the sounds of despair as the name would suggest, the turbine sounds turn into synthesizers and clash even more to make the song sound desperate.
The fourth song is entitled A Machine in India and though the stereos are very very out of sync it manages to keep some sort of rhythm between the four competing tracks. One track has a what sounds to be a song with all of it's parts while the other tracks have mechanical sounding noises that pop in and out and random intervals. It's beginning to sound very much like an orchestra tuning. The underlying tracks take a dark turn as the above happy sounding music. It begins to sound very confused as the four separate tracks split into what could be four different completely different songs. Inhaled screams begin to sound from one player to the other until i felt I was in the middle of a holocaust, it's then melted away by an orchestra.
I can't believe how much farther ahead this track is than the last one. The fifth track is called The Train Runs Over the Camel but is Derailed by the Gnat. The song has a very sauntering feel to it sort of resembling the walk of a camel. It is then hurled by the percussion into a traditional song backed with vocals and the whole nine yards. That yet again changes into raw choral singing in a language I don't understand. Finally all three different parts intermingle and are thrown in with an organ. The organ is the last thing to die out, right after the sauntering feel returns.
The sixth song How Will We Know (Futuristic Crashendos) turns out to be the shortest one. It incorporates extremely high pitches in with quiet four part music which gets quieter until it's over.
March of the Rotten Vegetables is completely out of sync the fourth track is completely ahead of all the others and which have been competing for second since it took the lead. A piano playing in the treble clef takes the focus of the song and is matched by percussion, a windy sort of static then emerges and dominates all of the stereos and fills the room. Harmonics and overtones can be heard above these.
I'm told that this is the last song Big ol' Bug is the New baby Now. We're met with a story of a residence that has several dogs. Childish sounding music plays over the story. The story ends with a song emerging and at it's climax the vocals say "this big ol' bug is the new baby now," almost as if in slow motion as the music ends each of the stereos cuts to dogs going wild until the last one sounds, and you're surrounded.
I park my 1984 Oldsmobile Firenza about forty spots back at the Mall of the Bluffs. It’s packed, great! I don’t want to get out of the car very much, I don’t particularly like malls. I see families, some carrying children, others carrying parcels as if they are their children. I decide to get out. I notice how warm it is today, after passing by about ten gentlemen my age smoking and complaining of their “bitches,” I open the door, a warm blast of air makes that familiar low gurgling sound that wind does as it passes by your ear. I enter on a white and brown, gold snow flaked tiled floor, a medley of smells enter my nostrils mostly dominated by pizza due to the Sbarro near the entrance, and the smell of butter, but I have no idea where that’s coming from. I decided to sit at the nearest table to the door just to survey my surroundings, a consistent buzz of conversation dominates the air. I open my notebook and almost all at once the people at my neighboring tables begin to stare at me, little do they know that I’m writing all about them right as they do so. It’s funny how whenever people see something out of the ordinary they just can’t seem to not stare. As I continue to write they go back to talking quietly I hear an angry mother call out to her son to “come over here this instant,” and almost as a mimic I hear a Spanish mother call to her child in a frustrated tone--What the hell is that man carrying? Is that a… … .. wow! that’s the longest telescoping pointer I’ve ever seen, although I haven’t seen too many. The man teases his son with the pointer that’s about 5 feet long as if he’s a cat after the tip of the pole. Interesting. There’s tons of commotion in a food court. People come and go and just can’t seem to not stare at other people’s food while they satisfy their most powerful instinct. This I’m sure gives the onlookers the same idea and sure enough a majority of them get in one of the many lines for food. I notice more people are entering than exiting, it must be getting busier. Well I’ll be damned, it’s the lone ranger, a red faced bow legged security guard wearing a white police esque uniform sporting a cowboy hat and a handle bar mustache decides to make his way over to the entrance that I’m sitting near to check out some suspicious activity. His keys jingle reminiscent of spurs as he saunters on over to the trouble at hand. Suddenly a group of women sit at the table behind me. They must have been mall workers considering that when they sat down they discussed when they all got off work. My thought process concerning the three women was halted due to a baby’s piercing cry repeated in the same nasally, nasty, noisy manner, “wah wah wah … wah wah wah…” spitefully rhythmic in its crying. The sound reminds me of the sound of a winning vulture begging for more animals to die so it doesn’t have to. The crowd lulls in conversation and my ears are graced by Christina Aguilera over the PA system, yay, more lovely noise, and almost in rhythm I hear carbon dioxide gas being hooked into the fountain drink dispenser. Fifteen minutes have passed since I sat down, where does the time-- a man of Asian decent sets his Taco Johns cup down on my table in a declamatory way almost saying “what are you doing here?” But did so only to check his wristwatch. I hear some funky beats coming from the children’s play area down the hall, time to get up and head over. A one hundred foot walk takes me by a Barnes and Noble, GNC, and The Picture People, the funky beats are coming from a DDR machine inside Aladdin’s Castle, and that smell of butter that I had smelled upon entering intensifies as I pass by Didoughs pretzel shop. I circle around the play area to a table at it’s rear, it’s utter chaos, about seventy kids running around an area of about 200 square feet. All acting like chickens with their heads cut off. So many of them are screaming all at once it forms some sort of rhythmical progression: low, long, low, high, high, squeal, screech repeat, it reminds me vaguely of the introduction to Pink Floyd’s hit Money off of Dark Side of the Moon. A few families summon their children to go carry on with their other mall business, and more start to almost as if they had hijacked the idea from the other parents. The children sigh as they’re separated from the other children, frogs, logs, lily pads, and the giant dragonfly eating frog. They walk with incredible effort as if someone had dosed them with diethyl ether before they started walking. Suddenly I feel as If I’m at Lied Jungle at the Henry Doorly Zoo looking out at the artificial landscape listening to the birds. My vision then reverts back to the play area, a small girl dressed in a pink jogging ensemble runs around and screams high and in rapid birdlike succession it pierces the atmosphere, she does it once more. I glance over at the Sprint booth directly across the play area and am reminded of a time when I was asked to step aside by one of their workers, it was the same one who sold me my plan and phone about two months before hand. I made direct eye contact with the gentleman pointed at myself followed by pressing my finger into my lips and then holding it next to my ear, this is how a deaf person tells you that they are deaf. Needless to say it worked, it works every time, when someone realizes you can’t speak or hear they know pretty well that you have no need for a phone. I remember the good laugh I had about that with my friends. I decide that the play area no longer holds my interest. I decide to walk to Starbuck’s, fortunately the walk takes me into Barnes and Noble which is the same path I walked from the entrance to the play area. I enjoy the opportunity to walk without having to write as I do so. As I enter, the chaos of the mall almost instantly shuts off, I’m met with a quiet light jazz atmosphere and the smell of books, ahhh books, that smell will always bring me comfort. I’ve been in here many times in order to buy a book that I was excited to read, and the smell takes me right back to those great moments of anticipation. I arrive at the store, sit down and write about how I had just sat down at Starbuck’s. I feel rather parched and consider ordering a Frappuccino, I then hear one of the workers behind the counter say “I hate making Frappuccinos, they’re just the one thing I don’t like to make.” I found this quite funny and then decided that a nice cold TAZO wild berry black tea would suit me just fine. I pick up the cool glass bottle and walk up to the counter hand him the drink to scan and say “I’d also like a dozen Frappuccinos,” the gentleman who rang me up found this rather funny, but the gentleman who had said it looked like he was caught with his hands in a cookie jar. Smug, I sit down and crack open my tea. An ambient acoustic band plays over the PA system slightly muffled by light conversation. My tea smells like flowers, I find that odd. I sip it. The tea is quite sweet but then is overcome by the eternal bitterness of the black tea. A song by Radiohead comes on the sound system and is then blasted into a million pieces by an announcement for one of the workers to come talk on the phone or something to that effect. I laugh to myself as I look around the sitting area. Everyone around me is drinking Frappuccinos. I gather my effects, tea in the right hand, notebook and pen in the other. I weave through the maze of volumes and head for the exit. As I open the heavy oak doors that lead out of the bookstore and out into the warm winter day I think to myself, I should have bought a book.
