The Fredösphere

I'm stunned by the continued clamor for louder electric cars, as most recently described at Bloomberg.com via The Atlantic. Adding more noise to the world is so wrong—so perverse—according to my intuition, I can't help but regard the opposite opinion with a kind of crazy awe; admiration, even: you guys have achieved unimaginable levels of wrongness. Congratulations!

(Oh, and the Bladerunner reference is a nice bonus.)

But I blog this topic not to criticize (mainly) but to point out this tidbit:

"We fought for so long to get rid of that noisy engine sound," said Tabata, Nissan's noise and vibration expert. With electric cars, "we took a completely different approach and listened to composers talk music theory."

Music theory? Wow. The possibilities are endless. My mind is now captivated by a beautiful dream of a futuristic Nissan electric hovercraft ameliorating the clangor of city streets with the sound of nested counterpoint.

Labels: MusicTheory

Diva Diane, my sci-fi singing buddy, found this gem: Le Wrath di Khan:



It's a claymation production from Adult Swim, but believe it or not, the music is compelling and the singing is shockingly excellent, with a bit of choral writing that, to my intense embarrassment, makes the hairs on my arms stand up. "Khan! Khan! Khan!"

Labels: sci-fi, Space Opera, VideoClip

"What Shall We Do With a Drunken Robot" is a piece of fluff I created as part of a comprehensive strategy to procrastinate on my top priority (secret) project. My production values as a recording engineer are low, but I made the recording anyway, using the following musical instruments: banjo, synth, slide whistle, washing machine, and sundry percussion.

My dear friend Tony C. Smith of the StarShipSofa podcast liked my robot song well enough to include it in the latest SSS edition, which you must go download and listen to right now.

Tony efforts at promoting SF have resulted in their first physical artifact, a book anthologizing some of the best stories of the show. Here's the blurbage:

StarShipSofa Stories Volume 1 is only a few days away from going on sale. Here's a sneak preview of the cover art, designed by Skeet.

Skeet's brief was to create a picture that would pay homage to the 50s SF pulp magazines. I think he's produced an amazing piece of work.

Get ready for the 16th September when the book will be available to buy in print form. There will also be a new website and free eBook released on that day.

I hope you think it captures the style and feel of the SF Golden Years.

Labels: Composition, Starship Sofa

I interrupt the criminal neglect of my duty to my widespread blog audience (hi, Aunt Virginia!) to report on a trip to the Big House.

Michigan Stadium and I have experienced a rocky relationship, one consisting of a few hours together followed by more than 20 years of resentful separation.  My one previous visit remains a miserable memory:  packed into a row that was overfull before we squeezed into it; a complete inability to see the field, not to mention the players; enjoying only passes in a game that contained all too few (this was Bo Schembeckler's three-yards-and-a-cloud-of-dust era); and--worst of all--a growing suspicion I was in the presence of tens of thousands of fools, since attending a UM game was obviously a fool's exercise.

I'm honestly befuddled by the dramatic difference between that experience and Saturday's.  Although in the end zone, our seats gave us a perfectly fine view.  Getting into the stadium took time, especially because skybox construction interfered with some of the stadium entrances, but my expectations were so low, they were exceeded magnificently.

I would not have chosen to return to the Big House were it not for Der Drübermensch's pleading.  My fine young 10-year-old sports fanatic had been dreaming of this day ever since attending a tailgate party fund raiser for his boychoir last fall, where he found out that UM football is a very, very big deal.

Like the devout of all other religions, practitioners of UM football worship attend carefully to its rites and rituals, eschewing any deviation from tradition.  Of all details, I was most charmed by the gleaming white gloves worn by director Scott Boerma, which must have been a real sacrifice on what was a warm late summer day.  Note in the photo the band with its line of tuba bells; the student section behind them can be seen by the line of demarcation where the yellow shirt-wearing students end and the fatcat alumni in their center-field seats begin.  Note the luxury skyboxes towering above, which, even in their incomplete state, make the ancient press box look seedy by comparison.

Football is the stuff dreams are made of, and not doubt many in the crowd envy the (true) freshman quarterback who lead the defeat-weary UM team to a convincing victory.  Others might envy coach Rich Rodriguez whose name the crowd chanted.  For me, my moment of envy came late in the game when Neil Diamond's voice blasted from the speakers:

Sweet Caroline!
[ooh-ooh-ooh!]
Good times never seem so good

and 109,017 voices sang his song with him.  They'll be singing it long after the men of the gridiron are broken down old men, and forgotten.

Labels: Culture, local, Religion, Sports