AGE OF REPTILES

ON S**T ART

Given a desire by human beings to create,  whether in the arts or for the propagation of the species (really not a good idea,  but that's another post),  we are faced with a glut of "art" that adds little or nothing to anyone's cultural understanding.  Just go to your local craft fair for myriad examples of this genre.  "S**t" art comes in many flavors,  but all  "S**t"  artists have something in common,  and that is a delusional perception of their "artwork's" worth,  be it monetary or aesthetic.  While this genre was originally relegated to the above venue,  it is now readily found on the internet.  Now don't get me wrong,  I'm all for the unmediated ranting of primitive art in all its powerful forms (see the art of indigenous peoples,  Art Brut, etc.),  but what I'm talking about here are the insipid meanderings of semi-educated,  semi-proficient,  self-promoting individuals,  often producing benign artworks of no artistic value whatsoever.  I would define valid artforms as those that present an emotional,  conceptual or formal statement that when experienced,  has the ability to bring a complex and expansive response from the viewer.  Again,  words such as "cute" and "awesome" shouldn't be part of that response inasmuch as they describe only visual inanities (a painting of a sunset or a puppy). In this respect,  almost all S**t art  also displays an overly mediocre sensibility.  Strangely enough,  some of the very worst (especially in the area of technique) work teeters on the edge of artistic plausibility,  as sometimes a collision course between the truly mundane, the primitive,  and the absurd may present the possibility of sudden swerves towards the ineffable or the poetic. Hmmm... they might have something there.

SUMMER'S END

ENTROPIC

OSCILLATIONS: HOME by Procol Harum

This is the fourth album (1970) by England's Procol Harum, and its first without organist Matthew Fisher.  A quick scan of the lyrics reveals an album filled with death,  disease,  despair,  suicide,  and apocalypse,  not exactly pop fodder.  With a single listen,  the title HOME implies a welcome finality,  and one that,  unlike the dogma of various religions,  does not present hidden truths.  To my mind this is perhaps the finest "pop" album to use the theme of one's mortality to darken an entire LP.  While some of the music here may seem too light or melodic to deal with such subject matter,  it really works,  especially when one finds oneself humming the chorus of the especially grim "Still There'll Be More",  which features a vengeful god as the protagonist: I'll blacken your Christmas/ and piss on your door/You'll cry out for mercy/ but still there'll be more. "Nothing That I Didn't Know" is a haunting tale of human suffering that offers a surviver's perspective mired in guilt.  Strangely enough,  the album begins with  a celebration of excess,  the guitar fueled "Whiskey Train" and ends with "You're Own Choice",  a track that embraces doubt,  possibility,  and finality,  perhaps the only positive moment on HOME.  Check it out.