The First Time I Met The Blues

The chronological details are a blur. I know for a fact that the first ever guitar-based song I ever heard that stuck to my head was Chuck Berry's "Johnny B. Goode" (although I can't remember whether I heard the original first or Marty McFly's) which led to my love of 50's rock n' roll.

But that's rock n' roll. I'm talking about the blues. I'm sure I had heard blues before, but never really understood it or fell in love with it. Not till I had the blues. And that moment I do remember.

I was in Geneva, visiting family friends (Ahmad's parents, for those who know who Ahmad is). My love for movies had kicked in and we were renting shit-loads of vids from the local video store run by a really cute 16 year old (I was around the same age at the time) and her over-bearing mother who probably thought we were trying to steal her daughter away. What can I say? Mountains, clocks and delicious chocolates aren't the only thing they make well. They also produce fine booty.

But back to the blues.

Casino had recently come out, and I was already a fan of Scorcese. So when we were in Geneva, shopping around, I came across the Casino soundtrack: a sprawling two-disc set covering music over three decades. Bought it, loved it.

On that disc was one song that will forever stay with me: B.B. King's 'The Thrill Is Gone'.

A couple of months later, I broke up with my then girlfriend. Needless to say, I wasn't feeling too good and was doing my best to forget about it. The Casino soundtrack was on and I was going about my business in my room when that song hit. And by God it hit.

I remember stopping everything I was doing and just listening. That hauntingly painful guitar solo, B.B.'s voice full of sorrow, the strings tugging at your heart.

I'm almost a 100% certain I started crying.

For the next few days I had that song on repeat. Why? Because it was exactly how I felt. It tapped into the exact emotion I was feeling and fucking clutched my heart with every note.

I remember reading somewhere, someone describing the blues as an expression of a single, specific emotion concised into two simple lines and a 12 bar chord progression.

That song got me through most of my heat-ache and opened up a whole new world to me: the blues. And it ain't just sad. The blues can be anything, but it's specific. A moment, a feeling, captured in two simple lines that say exactly what it's all about.

That's what I love so much about the blues. The chord progressions, the music, the kick-ass solo's, those are all great, but secondary. True blues taps into you, it says what you want to say or what you're thinking or feeling. So much of the music I hear on the radio these days tap into a general, broad emotion: happy, sad, angry, melancholy, etc. But they don't pinpoint specifics. Not as much as the blues does.

That's why I love the blues.




 

(And, in case you're wondering, I bring this all up because I've been spending a shit-load of time trying to write a solo for a blues song Henry wrote for Triple6Poser and it's driving me fucking insane.)

The Good, The Bad and The Show-Off

First, the bad:

"Thank you for your submission of Bootlegs to the 32nd Seattle International Film Festival. Regretfully, I must inform you that Bootlegs has not been selected for participation in this year¹s festival..."
Bugger.
The e-mail then goes on with their formal apology and so-and-so's. Ah, well. I kinda expected this, to be honest. I always knew Seattle would be a long shot but I was really hoping for it. It's the biggest film festival in the States and I kept thinking about how cool it would be to go to Seattle to check out my film on the big screen.
At least they sent me an e-mail to tell me I wasn't in. Closure...
Then, the good:

"Greetings from Stockholm! I hope this e-mail finds you well. We are very interested in your film ”Ciplak” for the 17th annual Stockholm International Film Festival 16-26 November, 2006..."
Wow. Singapore International Film Festival says no (well, more likeignores my entry), Seattle International Film Festival says no and I get an e-mail from the Stockholm International Film Festival.
Three S.I.F.F.'s in a row. Third time lucky, I suppose.
And in case you're wondering how this happened, I've got Amir Muhammad to thank for that. He passed my e-mail to them, which I think is the coolest thing ever. In comparison to the independent music scene here, the filmmaking scene appears to be a lot more... what's the word... friendly? More community-like?
I dunno. But dig this: I've never said more than three or four words to James Lee, he e-mails me a huge e-mail on ways to go about getting my movie on screen. I've met Amir Muhammad only in passing, never really having a conversation, and this is the second time the dude's given me an opening to get my immature films on screen (the first being 'Shortcuts'). I've hung out with [name censored to preserve his on-line annonymity] only a couple of times and he hooks me up with GSC.
These guys are helping others out in the scene without even knowing them too well. Compare that to the music scene where, sorry to say, a lot more backstabbing and cocksmoking goes on.
Then again, I could be wrong. If I don't write about how my back aches from knife wounds and my mouth tastes of salty balls and semen a year from now, I guess it's safe to say the local indie movie scene is a lot nicer and helpful.
(Not that I'd ever turn my back away from the music scene. You're prying this guitar off my cold, dead hands!)
And now, the show-off: Another write-up for Ciplak came out over the weekend, this time in the New Straits Times on Sunday (or do I use the 'Sunday Times' name when referring to their output on this day of the week?) which I'll upload soon. My old CD from Grey also sent over an mpeg of the last thing I worked on, a TVC for a kids drink which looks pretty much like how I imagined it to be.
And the studio is going swimmingly. We're now onto the duller part of the job: accounts. Bleurgh...