Into the Whirring Yards, Helios, 73rd Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

 

And this is it, the last day of 2024 (or 524 of the Common Era as I call it), the last day of Hagwinter. Tomorrow begins a new year and a new season, Childwinter. A fresh season for a fresh year. And with the new season, a new avatar, although I'll be using the Winter Child somewhat less often than I used the Winter Hag, that is to say, not every single day. 

Childwinter contains 73 days, although since next year's not a leap year, we will not recognize the 60th day, Fifth Twelve (February 29) and instead skip directly from the 59th day, Electra, The Unspoken Vows, to the 61st day, Alpha, Day of the Once Without. As a result, next year Childwinter will contain only 72 days.

Days of the six-day week in the New Revised Universal Calendar are named for stars in alphabetical order - Atlas, Betelgeuse, Castor, Deneb, Electra, and Helios. The 60th day of Childwinter falls on Helios, so it will be a week without a Helios, sort of like skipping Saturday and going from Friday directly to Sunday once a year. You'll get used to it.

The advantage of this system is that every year begins on the same day of the week, Alpha, and always ends on a Helios. This works whether it's a leap year or not.        

Within a few days, I'll be done with the college football live blogging and back to my regular (such as it is) schedule, including walking, sitting, posting, and measurements. Thank you for sticking with me, and happy New Year, my friends.

End of All Doubt, Electra, 72nd Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

 

I've let my much prized and often talked about routines of alternate-day walking and meditation fall by the way side as I've been live-blogging the college football bowls and playoff games. All things to their season, etc., but the sad part is that when I resume my schedule and go back to my new normal, everyone will think it's a New Year's resolution. I might think of it as a New Year's resolution.   

Muttering Hopping One-Legged Racing, Deneb, 71st Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

R.I.P., Jimmy Carter (October 1, 1924 - December 29, 2024). Impermanence is swift. 

A role model for true leadership. A man who worked to lift the country and those around him, and didn't just think of himself. He didn't keep an "enemies" list. He didn't self-aggrandize and obsess over what other people thought of him.

For 13 months, November 29, 2023 to December 29, 2024, we lived in a world with Jimmy Carter in it but not Henry Kissinger.

The man form Plains.  Sir, it was my pleasure to have been alive through your Presidency.

R.I.P.

Runs Tripped by Splendor, Castor, 70th Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

 

We're already a week past the winter solstice, but days are still too short for me.

We're only in December, and I'm already tired of the cold.

The new administration hasn't even officially begun yet, but I'm already sick of Trump.

That and my college football teams are losing.

I'll be better in a few days.

The Hitchhike Mysteries, Betelgeuse, 69th Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

The contractor came by today to look at the latest damage to my roof.

Last Saturday, following a couple days of heavy rain, I noticed new water staining on my living room ceiling. I called the roofing contractor who replaced my roof in 2020 (and again in 2021 after a tree fell on my house) to come look and see, but due to the Christmas holiday, he wasn't able to make it over until today.

I spent the whole past week contemplating the water stain and wondering how expensive the repair would be. Do I need to make another withdrawal from my IRA? Will insurance cover it? Will the roofing guy be willing to negotiate, or at least give a Retired Old Man a break on price?

He arrived today and found one small hole in the roof, most likely from a fallen tree limb (I remember hearing a loud thud a couple weeks ago, and hauling a large branch from the side of the house down to the road for pickup by the city. He replaced a couple shingles and sealed the hole, and told me there'd be no charge. I insisted - he drove all the way over here, taking time from his day, and did spend a few minutes up on my roof. He said he'd take whatever I wanted to give, so I cut him a check for $150, which he accepted without comment. 

I honestly don't know if the check was too small and his lack of comment was because he was offended, or if it was too much and he was embarrassed. 

My point here is, once again, the mind blows things out of proportion and imagines the worst-case situation, and oftentimes things turn out to be better than we anticipated. Or at least not as bad as we thought.

Now my next adventure is re-painting my living room ceiling, and I'll try not to get apocalyptic about imagining how that will go.

Fifth Day of Quandary, Atlas, 68th of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

 

I think it might have been Muhammed Ali who pointed out that wisdom was recognizing that it's not the deer crossing the road, it's the road crossing the forest.

Fourth Day of Quandary, Helios, 67th Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

Christmas music that doesn't suck. I used to believe that it didn't exist and over the years as older rock 'n' rollers and various other musicians past their creative and popular peak released their inevitable late career Christmas album, my mind hadn't changed. 

And then I heard John Zorn's A Dreamer's Christmas.  Marc Ribot on guitar, Jamie Saft on keyboards, Kenny Wollesen on vibes, chimes, and glockenspiel, Mike Patton and Trevor Dunn of Mr. Bungle on vocals and bass, and Joey Baron  and Cyro Baptista on drums and percussion. Sheer magic.

Third Day of Quandary, Electra, 66th of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

Brazilian samba composer Toninho Geraes is suing the British pop star Adele, claiming she plagiarized his song, Mulheres, in her song, Million Years Ago.

I don't know. I'm not a fan of Adele's and although I like samba, especially the tropicalia movement of the '70s, I'm unfamiliar with Toninho Geraes. But I don't think musicians should be sued even if their songs sound similar to earlier songs, or even if they incorporate lyrics from previous songs.

Look, I've heard the song Taurus by the band Spirit and of course I've heard Led Zeppelin's Stairway to Heaven. Yes, the guitar intro to Stairway is the exact same riff, note for note, as used in Taurus, and Spirit once toured with Zeppelin and played that song. I believe (but certainly can't prove) that Zep heard the Spirit song and it creeped into their head, and when they sat down to write Stairway, the riff leaked out of their minds and into the song.

It happens. But that doesn't mean it's plagiarism. Writers use turns of phrases they've read in other books, and standup comics can't help but parrot jokes that got laughs for other comics. And painting and the visual arts . . don't get me started.

All art incorporates what came before it. Music is no exception. 

Robin Thicke and Pharrell Williams were found guilty of copyright infringement for their song Blurred Lines after a jury ruled that it was too similar to Marvin Gaye's 1977 Got to Give It Up, even though the songs didn't share common lyrics or chord progressions, but because the jury felt the the latter felt too much like the former. If that's plagiarism, I hope that jury never listens to blues music.

Copyright is often abused, especially by big corporations. I have complete sympathy for the struggling musician who finds that someone else has taken their song, re-recorded it note for note and word for word and passed it off as their own. That's theft. Ditto the poor writers who find their novel in a bookstore after their publisher released it under a different name.

But if you can find the same or similar sentence in two different novels, that's not plagiarism, even if the second author is deliberately trying to sound like the first. That's homage, that's art. Same with music. It's tradition and it's genre. It's not plagiarism.

Back in the 1970s, the Brazilian samba musician Jorge Ben Jor wrote and recorded a song called Taj Mahal, with an extended "doo-doo-doo-doo-doo" sequence. You probably never heard it, but a year or two later, British pop star Rod Stewart recorded the same melody at the same temp with the same beat, but changed the "doo-doo-doo-doo-doo" to "Do you think I'm sexy?" and sold millions of copies. Ben Jor sued and Stewart settled. Whether or nor Stewart, already an established star, was deliberately trying to deny Ben Jor royalties by deceptively retitling his song I don't know, but by settling, Stewart as much as admitted, "Yeah, I copied that."

Copyright is big business. Don't get deceived to think that it's purpose is to protect the little guy. It's for corporations to disadvantage their competitors and ultimately monopolize their field.

Second Day of Quandary, Deneb, 65th Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

 

I know on a scale of problems it's pretty far down there, but it happened to me so I feel like it's important, at least important enough to blog about here. Last Saturday, a normal day, nothing special, sitting around watching my teams getting blown out in the college football playoffs, my gaze for some reason drifted up to the ceiling. And saw up there a big, brown water stain across the white plaster.

I don't know how long it's been there as I can't think of a day that I looked at the ceiling and remarked, "Yep. Pretty normal. Nothing unusual to see there." But it's so obvious and so hard to miss, I can't believe it's been there long.  We had two solid days of near-constant rain last week, and I suspect water found it's way past some shingles then, followed some joists and ducts, and pooled above the ceiling.

I went up on the roof and didn't see anything that looked unusual to me. But then again, there would probably have had to have been a hole the size of a bowling ball or a tree limb impaling the roof for me to have noticed.

I called the roofing guy who installed a replacement roof for me back in 2020 and made an appointment for him to come by. With Christmas in the middle of this  week, though, he won't be able to come out until Friday. 

So no real damage (yet) and it doesn't look like anything catastrophic, but it still has me shook. Like I said, I had a new roof put on in 2020, although I realize now that was five years ago. But to me, finding a stain on my living room ceiling feels like discovering a sinister mole or discoloration suddenly appearing on your skin, or feeling a strange lump somewhere on your body. A sign of trouble, decay, and deterioration. A rude reminder of swift and relentless impermanence.

Day of Quandary, Castor, 64th of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

"Nothing mattered, in the end. Not the probable dementia, the unfathomable ignorance, the emotional incontinence; not, certainly, the shambling, hate-filled campaign, or the ludicrously unworkable anti-policies.

"The candidate out on bail in four jurisdictions, the convicted fraud artist, the adjudicated rapist and serial sexual predator, the habitual bankrupt, the stooge of Vladimir Putin, the man who tried to overturn the last election and all of his creepy retinue of crooks, ideologues and lunatics: Americans took a long look at all this and said, yes please.

"There is no sense in understating the depth of the disaster. This is a crisis like no other in our lifetimes. The government of the United States has been delivered into the hands of a gangster, whose sole purpose in running, besides staying out of jail, is to seek revenge on his enemies. The damage Donald Trump and his nihilist cronies can do – to America, but also to its democratic allies, and to the peace and security of the world – is incalculable. We are living in the time of Nero."

—Darryl Marks, Music Producer, Composer, Vocalist, Musician 

Creaking Phantom Mob, Betelgeuse, 63rd Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

 

The winter solstice occurred today, the shortest day of the year in terms of daylight hours. Every day for the next 182 days will be longer than the one before it. and every day for the next 364 days will be longer than today.

This is the day when we're most out of balance, when darkness and light are most out of balance and the forces of darkness hold their greatest sway. But with each day, we will come more and more into balance until the spring equinox, when things will finally be balanced.

It's officially by many measures the first day of winter, but I think most of us can agree that the winter season already started a while ago.  According to the Universal Solar Calendar, it started 63 days ago and we're only ten days away from the change to the next season, Childwinter.

Twelth Ocean, Atlas, 62nd Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

 

Thought I'd post another one of those Roger Dean-like seascapes for Twelth Ocean, like I did for the previous 11 ocean days this year, didn't you? I thought so, too, but apparently the Winter Hag thought differently so here we go.

All things according to their season, and today I deliberately didn't take my alternate-day walk. First time since April that I missed with no intention of making up the miles. I haven't quit but there's a time for walks and there's a time for couch surfing and watching college football games, and this is the latter. I'll walk again when they aren't airing games.

For those of you keeping score at home, I'm 3-of-5 so far this year with by football picks, tied with two others for second place in the family bowl pool. At halftime, my pick (Tulane) is trailing but covering the spread so far in the Gasparilla Bowl (update: they got blown out in the second half and we took a loss).    

Day of the White Glare, Helios, 61st of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

 

Apologies in advance if I seem a little preoccupied for the next few weeks, but I'm live-streaming coverage of the college football bowls and playoffs over at The New England Bulldog. 

The Prince is Aloft, Electra, 60th Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

 

Another ecstatic walk today, but of a very different nature from Monday's endorphin-drenched hike. For one thing, I got a late start today so I walked my local Beltline trail instead of the Cochran Shoals trail near the Chattahoochee River. For another, part of the pleasure of last Monday's walk was listening as I went along to the album Taking Turns by ECM artist Jacob Bro over a pair of headphones. I wore the headphones again today, but listened to music of a completely different nature, the 58-minute live set, Wood Blues, by the forward-thinking jazz ensemble [ahmed].

[ahmed] is named for NYC bassist, oudist, composer, educator and philosopher Ahmed Abdul-Malik, who fused aspects of American, Arabic and East African thought, ethics, meanings and beliefs in open and experimental ways.

Wood Blues opens sounding like a bebop blues-jazz hybrid, with boogie-woogie piano over a walking bass line. The piano sounds increasingly like something Thelonious Monk might have played as it progresses, and after a while the alto sax of Seymour Wright joins in, playing repeated simple, sometimes one-note sequences. The repetition builds in intensity and suspense (how long will this continue, and what will come next?), and amazingly they keep going and going, building up into almost unbearable levels of intensity. At times, the whole structure of repeated riffs finally collapses in on itself into free-jazz chaos, but the band quickly finds a new pattern in that chaos and starts repeating that riff. Over and over. The excitement built up in this live recording is evident by the audience's audible reactions - the crowd, it seems, was going wild, cheering and hooting and hollering.

I probably covered at least three miles listening to Wood Blues today, and totaled 7.4 on the walk.  

[ahmed] will be playing at next year's Big Ears festival, and I can't wait to experience them live. Here's a track from a recent album, although not the one I was listening to today.   

The Fire Is a Mirror, Deneb, 59th Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

 

A 15-year-old girl entered a Christian school in Wisconsin yesterday and killed a teacher and a fellow student and left six other people injured before killing herself

Guns don't protect people, they kill people. If you have a gun in your home, I beg you to get rid of it now.

Rose Over the Cities, Castor, 58th Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

 

Ever since the cold weather arrived earlier this month, I've been taking my alternate-day walks along the nearby Beltline trail. Not only was I trying to avoid the cold winds that blow down the Chattahoochee River on my other trail, but the cool weather kept me indoors longer and the late starts precluded the luxury of driving to the riverside trailhead.

Today was a little warmer though (high in the low 60s), so I headed to the 'Hootch and I'm glad that I did. It was overcast when I arrived, but after a mile or two the clouds parted and blue skies came through. But the big difference since the last time I hiked the trail was that all the leaves had fallen from the trees. This opened up the vistas and allowed be to see further, not only around me but also the trail ahead. I wouldn't say the walks felt claustrophobic before the leaves fell, but it did feel much more open and spacious today. I was aware of more of the trail than just the few yards ahead of me.

I guess the endorphins must have kicked in, because the walk felt more joyful, exciting, and interesting than it had for a long time. The miles seemed to pass by quicker, the hills felt easy, and there was more than a little skip to my step. I totaled 7.3 miles and while I was glad to get back to my car at the trailhead, I felt like I could have taken the walk all over again.      

Humming of the Distances of the Planet, Betelgeuse, 57th Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

Zakir Hussain, the legendary tabla virtuoso who defied genres, died today at age 73. Impermanence is swift.

Zakir played on a great many albums, from George Harrison's Living in the Material World (1973) and jazz musician John Handy's Hard Work (1976) to the soundtracks of Apocalypse Now and Bernardo Bertolucci's Little Buddha.   He appeared on Mickey Hart's Planet Drum and was a founding member of Bill Laswell's world-music supergroup Tabla Beat Science and John McLaughlin's Shakti. He was widely considered one of the greatest tabla players of all time.

He was scheduled to play at next year's Big Ears music festival with jazz saxophonist Charles Lloyd and his own Masters of Percussion ensemble. I once noted that so many musicians seemed to die soon after performing at Big Ears - a statistical side effect of a festival featuring so many legendary but elderly musicians - but this is the first time I'm aware of a performer passing on before their scheduled appearance.

Rest in peace, good sir. 

Whistling Smiling Hand of the Hangman, Atlas, 56th Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

 

My cumulative walking distance, an imaginary circle with r = how many miles I've walked this year, reached all the way from Atlanta to Canada nearly three months ago, but only just now has reached Mexican soil. Not the embattled U.S.-Mexico border to be sure, but the northernmost Yucatan peninsula. It figures that my old geological ass would get to Chicxulub before Armageddon.

The radius of that circle now takes in portions of the United States, Canada, Mexico, Cuba, and the Bahamas. Sometime after it reaches the easternmost tip of the U.S.-Mexico border, it will probably take in the Cayman Islands, a British overseas territory, and then Belize, Turks and Caicos, and Bermuda, in that order. And then Jamaica, Guatemala, and Haiti next. 

My miles extended to the Atlantic six months ago, and will reach the Pacific coast of southwest Mexico sometimes after they reach Bermuda (and the southernmost tip of Hudson's Bay in the opposite direction) but before they get to Puerto Rico. I doubt it will be this calendar year, though. 

    

Day of the Magic Child, Helios, 55th Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

"Amazon donates $1M to Trump’s inaugural fund as tech cozies up to president-elect," The Guardian's headline exclaims. "OpenAI’s Sam Altman also announced a $1M personal donation to Trump on the same day, joining Meta," they continue.

No, "tech" isn't cozying up to Trump, as The Guardian likes to describes it. Rich, white men are cozying up to Trump. Right now, the riches are being made in tech, but in the past it was petroleum, steel, or automobiles. "Steel" wasn't cozying up to Grover Cleveland, "oil" wasn't contributing to Roosevelt. It was rich, white men and was always rich, white men. Different revenue sources, same donors. It doesn't change.

Stop asking why "tech" is so infatuated and supportive of Trump. When you ask the question right, why are rich, white men donating to Trump, the answer is pretty obvious. 

Day of the Inner Lid, Electra, 54th of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

It was on this day one year ago that my pet cat Izzy passed away in his sleep. One year without the lovable, goofy furball. 

Saturday will mark the three-month anniversary of the passing of my brother, David. It was three months ago today that I learned of his terminal illness. 

Impermanence is swift. Time passes swiftly and our dew-like life is gone in a flash. May I respectfully remind you, life-and-death is the great matter. 

Smoke of the Shore, Deneb, 53rd Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

 

For months, I took my alternating day walks in the sweltering heat and humidity of the Georgia summer. As the season progressed and the temperatures climbed, I adapted day by day, degree by degree, to the summer heat.

Now it's the cold. I missed my walk yesterday because it rained all day, but I made up for it today. The rainfall had stopped but the temperature was in the low 40s and the wind chill made it feel like the 20s. I wore a hat and two layers of fleece to ward off the cold, but could still feel it blow through my clothes when the wind gusted. 

If I'm going to keep my routine going, and I intend to, I'm going to have to adjust to the chilly temperatures of January and February just like I did for the heat of July and August. Instead of despising the cold, I need to consider it an adventure, something I need to conquer in order to meet my goal. The obstacle is the way.    

Day of the Mind Blizzard, Castor, 52nd of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

 

"I promise I will stop drinking if you make me Secretary of Defense," has got to be the most alcoholic thing a candidate can possible say.

The Glistening Drivers, Betelgeuse, 51st Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

 

Dealing with my emotions and feelings in this transition period between Presidents really highlights the advantages Contemplative Stoicism has over Zen Buddhism.

In a nutshell, Stoicism teaches us to ask ourselves if there's anything we can do to change the situation. If the answer's "yes," then do what needs to be done. But seeing as how we can't change the electoral results, nor can we change Donald Trump, if the answer's "no," Stoicism then asks if we can accept the burden and bear the pain, and advises us that we may be tougher than we think. Life is hard, but we can also grow and learn from the hardships. The obstacle is the way.

Buddhism is not all that different. Remember my I Ching reading (which is Taoist not Buddhist, but humor me) said that I may be able to survive the coming term, but then again, I might not. The Buddha's First Noble Truth is the existing of suffering. He would not have been surprised that hard times are coming, and taught that life is marked by sickness, old age, and death.

Neither practice offers a false hope that things will be all sunshine and rosewater. But Stoicism, and in particular Contemplative Stoicism, helps toughen us better for the hard times than does Buddhism, or at least that's how it feels to me.

I've listened to several Zen podcasts and online dharma talks about coping with the results of the election. Most of them offered some commiseration on the suffering, some teachers sounding very empathic and understanding about the frustration and anger their students are feeling, but few offered specific advice on what to actually do about it. I was reminded that the Buddha lived in India in the Fifth Century B.C. under a strict caste system, and never complained about it nor called for its overthrow. He didn't endorse it, but we shouldn't forget that he was of the Warrior caste, and if he had been born in a lower caste, would probably never have had the privilege of being a spiritual leader. On the other hand, Stephen Batchelor claims that the Buddha's actual goal was to build and create an alternate society, that the sangha was his true aim, not the dharma.

I'm not bashing on Buddhism. Contemplative Stoicism, in my formulation, is Stoic philosophy informed by and imbued with Zen Buddhism. Two columns supporting the platform, and both strengthen the other. But when the election results go the way they did in 2024, I tend to lean on the Stoic column for support. When they do the way they did for Obama in 2008 and 2012, I rely on the Zen column to keep me grounded.

Secrets of the Essence Chamber, Atlas, 50th Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

Happy Rohatsu, the day of the Buddha's Enlightenment! May all be equally awakened.

Zen Master Dogen once said that to drive ourselves to practice is surely delusion. That's a handy cop-out for those of us who miss a meditation period, who fail to sit through an entire sesshin, who don't even make it out of bed to even get to the zendo in the first place. "Ah, pushing myself to make it there is just delusion anyway," we tell ourselves as we roll over and go back to sleep. 

Which is to say that my practice didn't make it through my self-assigned seven days of Rohatsu. I did sit every day from December 2 through 7 instead of every-other-day as was my routine, and I did gradually lengthen the sitting time from 90 to 225 minutes. But today, Rohatsu itself, which was a regularly scheduled walking day and not a sitting day, didn't see any minutes of sitting. I got up, made my coffee and took my vitals, showered, and then watched Trump's ridiculous interview on NBC, followed by all the pundits picking it apart for an hour afterwards. I took my usual 5.3-mile walk for general health reasons and then went grocery shopping as I need food to sustain my life. When I got back home, I fed the cat, it got dark outside, and I realized "it's not going to happen." I'll sit tomorrow, back on my usual bidiurnal schedule (is that a word? I think it's a word). 

Zen mind is ordinary mind, and forcing myself to sit at the expense of living my actual life could be construed as "driving myself to practice." I'll take the Dogen Delusion Pass®, thank you.

Day of the Banner, Helios, 49th of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

This one's from the Sports Desk, as you'll soon see. The No. 5-ranked Georgia Bulldogs, after beating in-state rival Georgia Tech last weekend in an epic, eight-OT game, won another nail-biter of a game tonight, this time against the No. 2-ranked Texas Longhorns for the SEC championship. Tonight's game also went into overtime, the first SEC title game ever to go into OT, though fortunately for my blood pressure, only for one overtime period but still another classic for the books.

A bit of background: Georgia fans still bitterly remember the 2017 and 2018 seasons, when we lost two crucial games to Alabama. In 2017, we lost to Alabama, 26-23 (OT), in the National Championship game after the Tide switched QB Jalen Hurts for then-unknown Tua Tagovailo. Our next chance to play Alabama and avenge the loss came in the 2018 SEC title game, but then 'Bama switched QBs again, this time putting Hurts back in for Tua. Georgia lost, 35-28, and a dispirited Bulldog team, expecting all season to play for the national title, lost their bowl game to Texas, 28-21, after several seniors opted out of the game. 

But just the concept of replacing QBs mid-game still haunts Georgia, while Texas preened and strutted like they were the better team. That latter thought was dispelled when Georgia beat then No. 3 Texas, 30-15, earlier this season, on Texas' home field in Austin.              

Texas joined the SEC this season, and entered today's SEC title game ranked No. 2 in the nation, ahead of No. 5 Georgia despite their earlier loss to the Dawgs. With Texas leading 6-3, Georgia QB Carson Beck was injured on the final play of the first half after getting hit on the arm on an incomplete pass and had to leave the game. Backup QB Gunner Stockton started the second half as Beck watched from the sidelines. This was a blow to Georgia, as Carson had led the team the past two seasons, but the Bulldogs and their fans rallied to support his replacement. This was our chance to beat a team in a crucial match by replacing QBs mid-game. 

Stockton drove the Bulldogs down the field for the first TD of the game, giving Georgia a 13-6 lead. The Longhorns made a 41-yard TD to tie the game at 13-all early in the fourth and the two teams then traded FGs. The game went into OT tied at 16, our second consecutive OT game, with nightmarish memories of last week's 8-OT slog-fest still on our minds and aching in the players' bones. 

The Bulldogs held Texas to a field goal on the first overtime possession. When the Dawgs got the ball, Stockton ran for the goal line but took a hit that looked like targeting, but was ruled to be clean, that knocked the helmet off his head. By college football rules, Stockton had to sit out one play because of the helmet (more of a penalty on the victim than the perpetrator, IMO) and Beck came on the field, his limp right arm dangling loosely at his side. That's right, the Bulldogs had to replace the replacement QB, and did it with an injured player. But Beck took one snap and handed the ball to running back Trevor Etienne - touchdown, Georgia. The Bulldogs won the game and the SEC Championship, beating an over-ranked Texas team a second time this season and dispelling their replacement-QB anxiety. 

The Bulldogs improve to 11-2 and are now winners of two of the past three SEC Championships, two of the past three National Championships, and 56 of their past 59 games, including a record 31 straight home games. They've won 11 of their last 13 bowl games and during that stretch produced ten consensus All-Americans. Head coach Kirby Smart is three-time SEC Coach of the Year, the fastest coach to make it to 100 wins in NCAA history, and one of only three active head coaches in CFB to have won a national title.

Texas, who squeaked into the SEC title game without having played Alabama, Tennessee, Ole Miss, Missouri, or South Carolina, are 0-2 this season against Georgia and 10-0 against teams that aren't Georgia.

The best news for Georgia is that with the conference title, the Bulldogs get a bye next week in the first round of playoffs and a chance to heal up (in addition to Beck, both our first-string punt kicker and place holder were injured too). We'll have to wait until tomorrow's final Selection Committee rankings to see how the Dawgs are seeded and who they'll likely face in the playoffs.

This is the penultimate day of my Rohatsu practice period and I intended to devote several hours to sitting meditation today. The Bulldog's nearly four-hour game and my additional one hour to decompress afterwards cut deeply into my sitting time, but I still managed to get in 3¾ hours (225 minutes) today.

The Book Lingo, Electra, 48th Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

 

Behind the gates of the wealthy

Food lies rotting from waste.

Outside it's the poor

Who lie frozen to death.

Da Fu, the Eighth-Century Chinese poet, was not only a critic of war but also an astute observer of social injustice.

The Mad Albino, Deneb, 47th Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

 

It's the fourth day of my personal Rohatsu sesshin. So far, I've been sticking with it.

My usual practice, at least since early August, is to sit every other day. My usual practice, since early September, is for those sits to be 90 minutes long.  So my meditation time across a typical week would be 90 minutes, then 0 minutes, and then 90, 0, 90, 0, and 90. 

My Rohatsu vow was to sit every day, and gradually increase the time as I went along. So, since Atlas, Day of the Waste Arena, 44th of Hagwinter (Monday, December 2 to you), I've sat for 90 minutes (on a day that's normally 0), 135 minutes, 90 again, and today, 165 minutes. Tomorrow, I'll see if I can't increase the time of those in-between, 90-minute days.

Hopefully, all this will lead up to some sort of mini-marathon on Bodhi Day, Rohatsu itself, Sunday, December 8 (or, Secrets of the Essence Chamber in the Universal Solar Calendar).

Wish me luck.   

The Hundred Lights, Castor, 46th Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

I am a citizen of a country that does not yet exist. That's who I see you all as being, especially you younger folks but not confined to you younger folks. We are citizens of a country that we still have to create. A just country, a compassionate country, a forgiving country, a multiracial, multi-religious country, a joyful country that cares about its children and about its elders. That cares about itself and about the world. That cares about what the Earth needs as well as what individual people need. I am, you are, a citizen of a country that does not yet exist, and that badly needs to exist. 

-Vincent Harding (as inspired by Langston Hughes), July 2012

High Paralysis, Betelgeuse, 45th Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

 

A Scene in Spring, by Du Fu (712–770)

The nation is shattered, only mountains and rivers remain.
Weeds and wood grow rampant in the city.
Do the flowers sense that they should weep like me?
The birds seem so fearful. Do they feel the emptiness?

For three months on end, the flames of war have lit the night.
A letter from home would be worth a pound of gold to me,
An old man waiting, whose remaining white hairs
Will soon be too sparse to even hold a pin.

Du Fu may have lived over 1,200 years ago, but he may be the poet for our times. 

Day of the Waste Arena, Atlas, 44th of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

 

Secrets of the Essence Chamber, the 41st Day of Hagwinter, or as you probably call it, December 8, is Rohatsu, the day that Shakyamuni Buddha is said to have attained enlightenment. Rohatsu is usually preceded by a particularly intense practice period and it is said that monks around the world tremble in anticipation of Rohatsu.

I'm neither a monk nor a Zen Buddhist, but I decided to deepen my meditation practice this week in anticipation of Rohatsu. Since August 3 (Day of the Heart's Blood), my custom has been to sit every other day, the days between my every-other-day walking hikes, and since September 4 (Escape Dream Through) each sitting has been for 90 minutes. I sat for 90 minutes yesterday.

I sat for 90 minutes again today, even though it was a "walk" day. I did get my steps in today (5.4 miles, although I still think my iPhone is short-changing me), but I also sat, too. And in commemoration of the upcoming Rohatsu, instead of sitting for three 30-minute periods, I sat for two 45-minute periods. A little more strenuous, a little more intense.

I plan to repeat those two 45-minute sittings at some point tomorrow, as well as also sit for my regular three 40-minute periods.  Not all at once, but one in the late morning/early afternoon and the other in the late afternoon/early evening. My intention is to continue this daily practice - one 90-minute meditation alternating with two 90-minute sessions - for the week leading up to Rohatsu. I intend to do a little bit more on each alternating day - an extra period here, a longer period there - and see where I wind up on December 8. 

It feels awkward to talk aloud about my meditation practice. Please don't construe these words as bragging or boasting - I'm writing about this here as encouragement to myself and to help bolster my resolve to see this commitment to practice through.      

The Living Help, Helios, 43rd Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

People tell me I need to prepare for the coming times and adjust to the new normal. Things are what they are, and the sooner I accept it the better off I'll be.

We're all counseled to live a well-adjusted life and avoid the neurotic and schizophrenic tendencies that may result from maladjustment, but I categorically reject that advice. I've never found comfort in normalcy, and I don't want to adjust to what I'm being told to accept. On this issue, I side with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Speaking at Southern Methodist University on March 17, 1966, King said, "I must honestly say there are some things in our nation and the world to which I am proud to be maladjusted, and wish all men of goodwill would be maladjusted until the good society is realized."

"I never intend to adjust myself to segregation and discrimination. I never intend to become adjusted to a religious bigotry. I never intend to adjust myself to economic conditions that will take necessities from the many to give luxuries to the few, leaving millions of people smothering in an air-tight cage of poverty in the midst of an affluent society. I never intend to adjust myself to the madness of militarism and the self-defeating effects of physical violence."

Where these issues are concerned, we need maladjusted men and women. In his speech, King called for the formation of an International Association for the Advancement of Creative Maladjustment. He wanted men and women like the maladjusted prophet Amos, who in the midst of the injustices of his day, cried for justice to roll down like water, and righteousness like a mighty stream. Maladjusted like Lincoln, who had the vision to see that this nation could not survive half slave and half free. 

"As maladjusted as that great Virginian Thomas Jefferson," King said, "who in the midst of an age amazingly adjusted to slavery, could scratch words across the pages of history, words lifted to cosmic proportions: 'We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal and that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights and that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.' 

"As maladjusted as Jesus Christ, who could say to the men and women around the Galilean hills, 'Love your enemies. Bless them that curse you. Pray for them that despitefully use you.'

Through such maladjustment, may we be able to emerge from this bleak and desolate midnight of man’s inhumanity to man and into the bright and glittering daybreak of freedom and justice. May we all be appropriately maladjusted.

Winter Drum, Electra, 42nd Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

 

The United States is in for some rough times - it's a hard and rocky road ahead and the nation may not survive. C'est la vie. 

I'm 70 years old and, statistically, probably won't live long enough to see the end of this chapter about to unfold in front of us. But that's okay, because I've seen this show before.

I've lived through hard times - I grew up in the generation that did duck-and-cover air-raid drills in school in anticipation of nuclear war. People tend to look back at the 60s and 70s with dewy eyes and remember it all as flower children and peace signs, as white picket fences and Beatlemania, but the times were actually marked by waves of political assassinations (JFK, RFK, MLK, and many more), race riots, spiraling inflation, OPEC and the energy crisis, Nixon, Watergate, Kent State, paranoia, fear, and loathing. The war atrocities of the times weren't being committed by other countries (like today with Russia in Ukraine and Israel in Gaza) but by us in Vietnam, Laos, and elsewhere. Fear of communism was a constant presence, the USSR was bent on global domination, and death by global thermonuclear annihilation was not considered an unlikely ending to it all.

The 60s and 70s were some dark fucking times. But in the 80s, things seemed to improve a little (no thanks to Reagan, but Republicans still gave him credit) and by '89 the Berlin Wall came down, America ascended to the throne of international superiority, the lone global superpower, and the nation thrived in the Clinton economy (yeah, I'm giving him the credit for that). We rode that wave for a very impressive three decades. 

But we're heading back to those hard times again, to that 60s/70s state of an America in decline, Russian assets infiltrating our intelligence networks, spiraling energy costs, violence in the streets, and a paramilitary presence in our cities. Fear and Loathing, Part II. I don't welcome it and I probably won't survive it because of age and all, but I want to say that you, dear reader, you could probably survive because we've done this all before. We've already been here. We've already seen this shitty, pornographic movie they're about to screen for us again.

Buckle up, sit back, and wait 25 or 30 years and things will likely get better again. You'll see. Impermanence is swift.

Day of the Still Boulder, Deneb, 41st Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

The nation is shattered,

Mountains and rivers remain.

There is no fault in the present.

In Tang Dynasty China in the year 755 C.E., a rebellion broke out against the emperor. Eventually, armies marched across China, and society broke down into cycles of war, famine, pestilence and sickness. Reportedly two out of every three people in China died during this period (755-763 C.E.).

During this period, a poet, Du Fu, escaped to the city of Chang'an. He was exhausted, physically diminished, and unable to leave the city, but he wrote a nine-line poem, the first two lines of which were, "The nation is shattered, Mountains and rivers remain."

Roshi Joan Halifax of New Mexico's Upaya Zen Center invoked these lines in a talk shortly after  the U.S. 2024 presidential election. She also recalled Zen Master Keizan's later statement, "Do not find fault in the present." The present is just as it is. The present is what we're able to bear witness to, and living beyond delusion means to not separate the truth of what is from our frames of reference or our mental conceptions (samskara).   

Putting these lines and statements together, we can arrive at a poem to help guide us through the difficult years the apparently lie ahead.

The nation is shattered,

Mountains and rivers remain.

There is no fault in the present. 

The Overday, Castor, 40th of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

 

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all. Today, the Big Ears organization released the list of artists scheduled to perform on the first day of the 2025 festival (Bridge of Dread, Castor, 14th Day of Vernal, or Thursday, March 27 to you). 

In my experience of five years attending this festival (2025 will be my sixth time), you can comfortably take in only about four sets on the opening night, which typically starts around 6:00 pm, and five if you really hustle and don't mind arriving a few minutes late. But this year, the promoters have announced 26 sets for opening night alone, and many, if not most, are must-see artists:

Beth Gibbons (Portishead)
Marissa Nadler
Yo La Tengo 
Tortoise
Alan Sparhawk (Low)
Charles Lloyd Sangam Trio
ganavya
DARKSIDE (featuring Nicolas Jaar)
Nanocluster (Immersion/Suss)
William Tyler
Steve Roach
Rich Ruth
Tigran Hamasyan
Barry Altchul's Axiom 5
Ambrose Akinmusire
Bela Fleck
Phil Cook
Joy Guidry
Carlos Nino & Friends
Sunny War
Astrid Sonne
Kate Soper
Shelley Hirsch
Username Password (Wayne White)
Dedicated Men of Zion
RB Morris & William Wright

I feel sorriest for the single-day passholders - you buy a ticket for 26 artists, but you'll only get to see four of them. Of course, there's going to be scheduling conflicts for all of us and a lot of tough decisions to be made. 

If I had my pick of four of the above artists to see and there were no scheduling conflicts (or if I could figure out how to somehow be two places at once at the same time), I would pick Yo La Tengo, Tortoise, DARKSIDE, and Nanocluster, with Charles Lloyd, Beth Gibbons, ganavya, and William Tyler as my backup, "safety" list. Of course, if fate has me winding up seeing Alan Sparhawk, Steve Roach, Rich Ruth, and Joy Guidry, I couldn't complain - it would still be a great night of music. The only artists for whom I have little interest are the last five or so on the list, but that's just me.

Because YOU are important to me, I made a Spotify Playlist of the Thursday night performers. I culled their most recent or most representative releases down to 100 songs, or roughly about four per artist. Here you go, and enjoy!    

Anyway and again, happy Thanksgiving! May all beings be equally nourished.

Tempest Birth, Betelgeuse, 39th Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

 

Tomorrow's Thanksgiving. Not a big deal for me, but I know that many of you are traveling, seeing family, preparing for a big meal. I understand that some might be concerned about family relations during the inevitable political discussions or when the conversation turns to other sensitive topics (marriage, children, career, etc.).

We here at WDW are here to help. If you're called upon to say the traditional prayer before the meal, might I offer a Buddhist meal verse? You could say something along the lines of:

Innumerable efforts have brought us this food,

We should consider how it comes to us.

We should reflect on our virtue and practice,

And whether we are worthy of this offering.

We regard greed as the obstacle to freedom of mind.

We regard this meal as medicine to sustain our life.

For the sake of enlightenment we now receive this food.

The first portion is to end all evil.

The second is to cultivate every good.

The third is to free all beings.

May all beings be equally nourished. 

 

        

  

 

   

Approaches, Atlas, 38th Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

In the 1960s, the democratically elected President of Brazil was overthrown by a military dictatorship. I've been thinking a lot recently about how other people lived and survived under autocratic regimes, and have found the music of the Brazilian tropicalia protest movement particularly inspirational.

Musician Caetano Veloso was one of the leading figures of the tropicalia movement and for his efforts was exiled in lieu of prison by the Brazilian military. However, while in Brazil in January 1971 on a temporary basis to see his parents' 40th anniversary, he was interrogated by the military and asked to compose a song complimenting the Transamazônica highway. Caetano didn't accept the offer, but, back in exile, he recorded an LP in London titled Transa. The hilarious part is that transa, while taken from the highway's name, is Portuguese for "fuck." 

The album, sung in both English and Portuguese, is a masterpiece and one of the best albums not only of the tropicalia movement, but of the early 70s, period. Caetano wasn't a happy man at the time and was not only disappointed with his government but also felt alienated and lonely in London.  But he channeled his pain and loneliness into songs like You Don't Know Me and It's a Long Way, and produced great art out of his discontentment.

The stellar Red Hot organization, the folks behind several all-star compilation albums for various worthwhile charities, has recently released a new 46-song compilation for and by the transgender and LGBTQ music community titled TRANSA, after the Veloso album. I don't know whether or not all of the musicians on the album are themselves trans or queer, or just sympathetic and supportive, and I'm not going to speculate on which are in which group.

I finally listened to all three-and-a half hours of the compilation. Frankly, I was disappointed. NPR music critic Ann Powers warned that it was an overall downbeat effort and she was not incorrect. The album is not without its highlights, but most of it consists of slow, somber, and spare songs performed sincerely but not necessarily enthusiastically. But let's not look at the half-empty portion of the glass (or the 7/8ths empty part) and instead focus on the tracks I like. 

The second track on the album is an ethereal and transcendent cover of Veloso's You Don't Know Me performed by Devendra Banhart, Blake Mills, and Beverly Glenn-Copeland, which reinterprets the original's sense of alienation by Brazilian exile adrift in London to the perspective of a nonbinary person in these modern times. After that, though, other than the compilation's title, there are no other links with Caetano's 1972 recording.   

Probably the highlight of the album is a 26-minute instrumental near the middle of the album by Andre 3000 titled, as his recent style, Something Is Happening and I May Not Fully Understand But I'm Happy to Stand for the Understanding. I Say 'instrumental," but toward the end of the track there are some vocalizations, but Andre's not singing in English or any identifiable language. It's somewhere between scat and speaking in tongues, but whatever it is, it sounds very cool. 

Just a few tracks after Andre 3000, producer Arthur Baker offers a remix of the late Pharaoh Sanders called Love Hymn. It's hard to go wrong with Pharaoh, and even if the mix is overproduced with too many layers at times, Pharaoh's sound still shines through. 

An hour or so later, we hear a highly improbably cover of Charles Lloyd's TM by Fleet Foxes, Cole Pulice, and Lynn Avery. TM was a paean to transcendental meditation by Lloyd and the Beach Boys from Lloyd's 1972 album, Waves, and on many levels, I consider it one of the best Beach Boys songs ever (and yes, of course I've heard Good Vibrations). I'll admit the lyrics are pure cringe ("T.M., T.M, in the a.m., and the p.m.") but the rhythms and harmonies so closely match the feel of sitting on a surfboard waiting for a wave as the ocean rises and sets that it's ideal Beach Boys material. I have no idea if this song was selected for TRANSA out of confusion what the "trans" meant, of if it was meant as a comic response to "You want a song about trans? How about one on transcendental meditation?"

The other 42 tracks may grow on me with time, but overall the effort seems like a colossal waste of talent. I mean how could you go wrong with a compilation that includes, over and above those already mentioned, Dirty Projectors, Perfume Genius, Jeff Tweedy,  Alan Sparhawk, Bill Callahan, Sharon Van Etten, Adrianne Lenker, Julien Baker, Faye Webster, Frankie Cosmos, Caroline Rose, Hand Habits, Grouper,  Laraaji, Mary Lattimore, Julianna Barwick, Claire Rousay, Ana Roxanne, AV María, Time Wharp, Joy Guidry, Julie Byrne, L'Rain, Jlin, Moor Mother, More Eaze, Helado Negro, Ezra Furman, Allison Russell, Cassandra Jenkins, Yaya Bey, Sam Smith,  Bartees Strange, Laura Jane Grace, Lee Ranaldo, Jayne County, and Wendy & Lisa of the Revolution? 

Black Clotted Corridor, Helios, 37th Day of Hagwinter, 524, M.E.

 

Dental Hygienist: Did you hear they're dropping all the charges against Trump? 
Me (with mouthful of picks and probes): Mffngrthith blrrght . . . 
D.H.: What?

Later that session, 
D.H.: Is the CDC funded by the government?
Me: Shlrkll ploringen kllr . . .
D.H. Huh?

She leans in close to my ear and whispers,
D.H.: I didn't vote for him! Spit.
Me: Hawk tuah! Neither did I. 

Wild Sun, Electra, 36th Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

 

On observing the rippling of the space-time continuum: the other day, I remarked on my perception of the changing pace of time. Today, I recorded changes in the spatial distance between fixed points.

Four days ago, Nov. 20, on my every-other-day walk, I took my usual route along the northwest Beltline trail, around the Bobby Jones Golf Course, and along the Memorial Park loop. On paper, it's a six-mile walk, maybe 6¼. 

According to the health app on my iPhone 16, though, I walked 7.3 miles that day. But hey, maybe the trail signs and mileage markers underestimate the actual distance, and the route is 1.1 to 1.3 miles longer than the reported 6 miles.

But two days ago, Nov. 22, I took the exact same walk again and clocked only 5.5 miles om the health app. Maybe the mileage markers are actually overreporting the distance? But still, why was Friday's walk 1.8 miles shorter than the Wednesday's, when I took the exact same path?

Today, Nov. 24, I took that walk a third time and this time got 7.5 miles on the health app.    

The conclusion is obvious - the universe is apparently contracting and expanding, breathing as it were, so that the distance between my start and finish points changes by 15 to 25% between walks. One could argue that the health app on the iPhone 16 is an imprecise piece of garbage, shit software packed onto an overcrowded and overpriced gadget, but that would question the integrity of Apple, and we can't have than now, can we? 

No, we can't, so I'll stand by my conclusion that space and time are both impermanent and transient illusions subject to change.

Day of the Axe, Deneb, 35th of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

 

Last night, I finished reading Richard Powers' Playground.

I'm a fan of Powers. Prior to completing Playground, I've read Orfeo, The Overstory, and Bewilderment, his three previous novels. I had high hopes for Playground but have to admit I was disappointed. It never seemed to settle on a theme, and the story meandered as if it were written in serial format, making it up as it went along.   

Perhaps I was misled by the prepublication publicity. The novel was promoted as being to the oceans what Overstory was to trees. And while the ocean was frequently discussed, the book was almost equally about strategy games like chess and go, AI, and Chicago. You can almost sense Powers' interest wandering as the book proceeds. It feels like he started wanting to write a grand epic about the wonders and majesty of the ocean, got distracted by Polynesian life, started some deep thoughts about games and the people that play them, and later the rise of the computer age leading to the advent of AI. And then at times, it was like, "Oh, yeah, this is my ocean book," and back beneath the sea we went.

Near the end, he has one character write a book about the ocean, and he uses the opportunity describing that fictional book to do a data dump on all the research he must have accumulated on the oceans in the course of writing Playground. 

Perhaps my experience suffered from high expectations. Had this been the first novel I read by some previously unknown-to-me author, I might have enjoyed it more.    

The Boy Patriarch, Castor, 34th Day of Hagwinter, 524 M.E.

 

Damn, it's cold!

Readers in northern climes may laugh at my reaction, but temperatures here in Atlanta fell to 38° and with the wind, it felt like 35. Yes, that's still technically above freezing - water remains in liquid form - and for those of you far north, it's still above 0° F. But the 30s are cold for Georgia. especially for November, and the change from earlier this week was noticeable.

Last summer, the challenge to my walking hike routine was the heat and humidity and the dangers of heat stroke. Now the challenge is the nippy cold and fear of hypothermia. Heat and humidity might be uncomfortable, but cold is downright painful.

Anyway, it's Friday by your calendar, which means new music dropped today. I listened to some excellent new recordings and one that despite its undeniably good intentions didn't quite do it for me.

First, today marked the release of two extended tracks, Freakadelic and Late Autumn, by Jeff Parker's ETA IVtet. The two tracks combined run for nearly 40 minutes, and as you might guess, Freakadelic is the funkier track with a great driving bass line throbbing through most of the cut, while Late Autumn is more introspective and downtempo. Both tracks are outstanding and fascinating, and take the listener on quite the journey. Parker is best known as the long-time guitarist of the post-rock band Tortoise, but he also leads other bands in the jazz, post-rock and experimental arenas.  From 2016 until it closed in 2023, Parker held a weekly residency at the Los Angeles club ETA (for Enfield Tennis Academy from David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest). Parker dubbed the band that emerged from those sessions the ETA IVtet, which also includes the avant saxophonist Josh Johnson, drummer Jay Bellerose, and bassist Anna Butterss (the driving force on Freakadelic). Some of the sessions were released in 2022 as Mondays at Enfield Tennis Academy, and The Way Out of Easy is scheduled to drop on December 12. Freakadelic and Late Autumn are half of that forthcoming album, and suggest a potential AOTY. I can't recommend these two tracks enough.

Jamie Saft is a jazz pianist best known for his work with John Zorn (e.g., Astaroth: Book of Angels Vol. 1 - Jamie Saft Trio Plays Masada Book Two). On today's The Jamie Saft Trio Plays Monk, Saft covers the compositions of jazz legend Thelonious Monk accompanied by Bradley Christopher Jones on bass and the great Hamid Drake on drums. It's a great jazz recording of the compositions played straight up as Saft lets the music of Monk speak on its own terms instead of overwhelming the compositions with his own ideas and inventions. A good straight-ahead jazz album of standards respectfully played by a master, but without the stuffy archive treatment of stiff traditionalists.

Roge's Curyman II, like his previous masterpiece, Curyman, sounds like late 70s tropicalia, and that's meant as the highest compliment possible. Not many musicians, even the surviving members of the Brazilian movement, play that kind of samba anymore, and Roge puts just enough of a 21st Century spin on it to keep it fresh. But aside from the outstanding production, you'd be excused for thinking you were listening to some deep cuts of Gilberto Gil or Caetano Veloso that you'd somehow missed.

The album rpm consists of tracks featuring the compositions of the late avant-garde composer Philip Jeck. Some of the tracks are performed by Jeck, some are collaborations with other artists, and some are performed by other musicians. Jeck composed and performed using antique turntables and old vinyl albums, but before you assume the music's some kind of amalgam of old-timey samples and nostalgia, I'll tell you the source materials are unrecognizable and what emerges is a startling, often piercing sound closer to Alvin Lucier than Tin Pan Alley. It's hard to explain and even harder to describe, but the best clue is that the other musicians on the album include Fennesz, Gavin Bryars, David Sylvain, Hildur Guðnadóttir, and Jah Wobble. A kind of ambient soundtrack for extreme emotional states.

Finally, A Peace of Us by Dean & Britta is Dean Wareham and Britta Phillips (Luna, Galaxie 500) performing Christmas songs. It's a just-slightly-left-of-center take on holiday music, including John and Yoko's Happy Xmas (War Is Over). Look, I'll be honest with you: I generally don't like holiday music and this album does little to convince me to change my attitude. If I'm entertaining this season and I don't want to play Mariah Carey or Bing Crosby, this record would do in a pinch, but even then I'd rather spin John Zorn's A Dreamer's Christmas, which takes traditional holiday tunes and treats them as source material for jazz improvisations, while keeping a respectfully cheery attitude.       

I still haven't yet unpacked the massive, eight-disc TRANSA (speaking of Caetano Veloso) produced by the Red Hot Organization, but I'm very much looking forward to it. It includes tracks by many of my recent favorite indie and electronic performers (Helado Negro, Laraaji, Moor Mother, Mary Lattimore, Julianna Barwick, Sharon van Etten, Julien Baker, claire rousey, Ana Roxanne, Faye Webster, Frankie Cosmos, Grouper, and Joy Guidry), and there's still a 26-minute Andre 3000 cut and an 11-minute piece featuring the late Pharaoh Sanders. Can't wait to give it a listen, but I want to make sure it's at a time when I can give it my full attention.