late late late - CHRISTMAS rant 2004!!!
minimalism. My rant will start with a small jeer regards the bad fad of minimalism. Minimalism can go to hell. It's overated. Why have a double garage if you are not going to put double in it ?
Note the christmas story..... there is a whole freekin fleet of angels who spark up to waiata the annunciation. It's not just archangel Michael struggling with the lyrics. Its not just the inner circle of angelic types hesitantly stumbling towards the microphone. God doesn't send his people to singstar with our people; no the whole circus, the full monty yards gets the call up. There is nothing fung shite about this. It's a major heavenly realm action! No one excused with a letter from home like it's swimming sports. It's a hikoi on the auckland harbour bridge, it's a veritable who's who call up. Bigger than anything mr geldof can whip up with a natural disaster and a publicity machine geared like a well oiled bike rode and ridded by the editor of No Idea. It's – hello – a choir en masse. And as a theological scholar reading page 142 in the new testament, the annunciation was more greecian olympic opening wazzo then art gallery twaddle, how's my skirt and here's your bubbles darling.
It could have been different.
Sure,.... the kiri te kanawa angelic equivalent with stereo shoulder pads may have lifted a wing and said 'send me' – and a yes a hallelujah solo soprano does indeed have it's supporters: sparse arrangement, perhaps a more austere moody piece..... a kind of Cash produced by rubin thing,...... a serene slow building shepherd spine clinger culminating with a crescendoing f. mercury inspired 16 baroque bars to finish has its financiers in the back pocket me thinks. And if, ...If.....and here try to allow some melody to form within your neurons .....and think tasteful reverb obviously, in the charming echo and vibe of a rich jewish hillscape that no cloud formation could barricade, and the angel gills that make the 'sound'........................................................ NOTHING to do with hayley westenra or that other english one... or is she welsh???...never mind her.
.... if, we indeed HAD THE DEFINING SOLO performance of an angelic lifetime, which quite frankly is probably a looooooooong time, a top shelf chocolate martini type thrill .....You could then ....could, mind, ....... say that God might have made a little weeny error in the marketing department. Some would argue oh yeah, yeah indeed. People that buy those magazines that aren't exactly sitting at the front of the Pak and Save check out. Those people. Oh yeah. Many would shrug their pinot noir and cry tasteless and pugeot off to Kare Kare with something as crass a notion as a .........spectacle. A spectacle above 85db at that. Absolutely no.
Butt. God chose the WHOLE CHORALE complete with God knows how many harmonic counter point brian wilsonesque add 9th do wops into the deal. Hallelujah! Hall yes! Imagine if the flock herders had been accessorised with headphones????? BIG!. Multi! Super! Think YES or STEELY DAN or that drummer from RUSH with 2 x big stonkin kick drums in the 70's.
Minimalism - my hairy butt./
On the night that Christ was born, minimalism and all it's latter day saints of Urbis sat uncomfortable in their Scandinavian furniture, massaged foot tapping on a Himalayan floor piece, eyes warming to the well hung picasso mumbling trivialities and clinking ice to themselves while outside something multiple and supremely naffly unfashionable UNLEASHED itself into the sphere of muse. UNLEASHED like a big wayne davies fibreglass dunger in pounding surf at Mount Maunganui . UNLEASHED like a bull terrier mastiff mongrel cross loose in Botany Downs. UNLEASHED like a choir with sound so surrounded it out surrounded the shoot out at the OK chorale.
A choir.
choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir
Big choir. A carpark full at least. A blimmin certified sonic hangi for all and sundry's taringas.......well.....techincally sheep lovers at least..... A chorale feast! Handel's Messiah on good acid! One of those late night Concert FM swerve balls that wakes you up on the desert road with timpani being played by a very, very big fat timpanist! Big Big Mother of all Choirs!
God wanted it loud and non-solo and wide-screen and phat yo. A full mantle piece of at least 14 random things/nik naks/objects/ and artificialfruit. Absolutely. Moreover, embarrassingly this is the God prince in all its splashed front page newspaper theme party pics – the nativity in the colonial world. Embarrassing quite. And as so the father in the yarn about the prodigal son: the father did not offer a couple of specs of cooked cow on a big plate with a dripped swirl of mint sauce, some sprinkled thyme, and an artfully placed flower to the hungry returning runoff-spring....... but rather the father rather killed the whole heifer hooves 'n all and creamed the kidneys for dessert after....... so God likes anything but minimal.
And as far as first birthdays, or rather as zionist zeroist birthday party's go, God certainly hooked up the coloured light bulbs, got ample crates ( to sit on for the brethren readership) and tuned the guitars for the sing a long in the garage all night long.
And so.... what do my hairy butt and minimalism have in common. Nothing. My butt is plentatious with follicles. What does Christmas have in common with minimalism? Nothing. But there is rich significance in the CHOIR. It is a primal Rolling Thunder Revue. It is Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young and the Holy Ghost and anybody else. Ben Lummis is not a choir. A choir in green vernacular is angelic sandal wearing, bee keeping pottery wheel community ....even before coromandel was a peninsula. It is the angelhood of angels in the ozone. Indeed my friends, the incarnation is not aloof nor elitist and depending on your liberation tendencies, is perhaps even biased against those considered elitist and aloof and untouchable. The incarnational celebration likewise, must be as messy and imposing, and just as crass and unthinkable: emmanuel - god among us. Put that in your herbal tea and drink it.
I am a card carrying anti minimalist in the new millennium. My cd's are visible, my tv is 3 dimensional, i have too many books and they look like varsity students in some kind of book case orientation week. I have a dog, a cat and 3 fish (at last count). I have cords that hang out from the wall and warp around the room. The remotes are free spirits. I have cupboards with handles. My fridge is not a hidden fridge - it is happy with who it is. I had a christmas tree that shed needles on the carpet till it was shod. Sometimes i leave my shoes on the floor by the door. I have no knowledge of recessed lighting. I own, use and store vinyl records within the confines of our lounge. My kids can find their toothbrushes without a map. I have grass and mow it. My car sometimes roughs it out in the cold. As do the 5 bikes. Sometimes it takes me 5 minutes to find a phillips screwdriver. Sometimes the vinyl exactly replicates the compact disc. My son keeps his drum kit in the lounge. My lightbulbs hang rudely from the roof. Sometimes newspapers are seen in a plethora of residencies. Our second phone is a garfield phone that clashes with the karen walker resene range and is within a 4 metre radius of the other
phone. I keep stuff in cases just in case. I hoard like a prostitute on the corner of Edinburgh and Karangahape rd. Letters sometimes hang out and chill and don't care.
I am not a minimalist. And the last time i watched my son's kindy nativity play there were at least THREE wisemen, and they EACH had a camel. And the manger, with all due respect, had one too many donkeys and stray rabbits for any self respecting pregnant minimalist. And the choir thing i think I've already mentioned. Case closed. God is on my side.
Hope you had a spectacular christmas. And in the words of a quantum theorist – go forth and multiply! I intend to cobbers.
Ka pai and kia ora, live large these 365 days - from Dave White on behalf of Radio Newstead
Note the christmas story..... there is a whole freekin fleet of angels who spark up to waiata the annunciation. It's not just archangel Michael struggling with the lyrics. Its not just the inner circle of angelic types hesitantly stumbling towards the microphone. God doesn't send his people to singstar with our people; no the whole circus, the full monty yards gets the call up. There is nothing fung shite about this. It's a major heavenly realm action! No one excused with a letter from home like it's swimming sports. It's a hikoi on the auckland harbour bridge, it's a veritable who's who call up. Bigger than anything mr geldof can whip up with a natural disaster and a publicity machine geared like a well oiled bike rode and ridded by the editor of No Idea. It's – hello – a choir en masse. And as a theological scholar reading page 142 in the new testament, the annunciation was more greecian olympic opening wazzo then art gallery twaddle, how's my skirt and here's your bubbles darling.
It could have been different.
Sure,.... the kiri te kanawa angelic equivalent with stereo shoulder pads may have lifted a wing and said 'send me' – and a yes a hallelujah solo soprano does indeed have it's supporters: sparse arrangement, perhaps a more austere moody piece..... a kind of Cash produced by rubin thing,...... a serene slow building shepherd spine clinger culminating with a crescendoing f. mercury inspired 16 baroque bars to finish has its financiers in the back pocket me thinks. And if, ...If.....and here try to allow some melody to form within your neurons .....and think tasteful reverb obviously, in the charming echo and vibe of a rich jewish hillscape that no cloud formation could barricade, and the angel gills that make the 'sound'........................................................ NOTHING to do with hayley westenra or that other english one... or is she welsh???...never mind her.
.... if, we indeed HAD THE DEFINING SOLO performance of an angelic lifetime, which quite frankly is probably a looooooooong time, a top shelf chocolate martini type thrill .....You could then ....could, mind, ....... say that God might have made a little weeny error in the marketing department. Some would argue oh yeah, yeah indeed. People that buy those magazines that aren't exactly sitting at the front of the Pak and Save check out. Those people. Oh yeah. Many would shrug their pinot noir and cry tasteless and pugeot off to Kare Kare with something as crass a notion as a .........spectacle. A spectacle above 85db at that. Absolutely no.
Butt. God chose the WHOLE CHORALE complete with God knows how many harmonic counter point brian wilsonesque add 9th do wops into the deal. Hallelujah! Hall yes! Imagine if the flock herders had been accessorised with headphones????? BIG!. Multi! Super! Think YES or STEELY DAN or that drummer from RUSH with 2 x big stonkin kick drums in the 70's.
Minimalism - my hairy butt./
On the night that Christ was born, minimalism and all it's latter day saints of Urbis sat uncomfortable in their Scandinavian furniture, massaged foot tapping on a Himalayan floor piece, eyes warming to the well hung picasso mumbling trivialities and clinking ice to themselves while outside something multiple and supremely naffly unfashionable UNLEASHED itself into the sphere of muse. UNLEASHED like a big wayne davies fibreglass dunger in pounding surf at Mount Maunganui . UNLEASHED like a bull terrier mastiff mongrel cross loose in Botany Downs. UNLEASHED like a choir with sound so surrounded it out surrounded the shoot out at the OK chorale.
A choir.
choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir choir
Big choir. A carpark full at least. A blimmin certified sonic hangi for all and sundry's taringas.......well.....techincally sheep lovers at least..... A chorale feast! Handel's Messiah on good acid! One of those late night Concert FM swerve balls that wakes you up on the desert road with timpani being played by a very, very big fat timpanist! Big Big Mother of all Choirs!
God wanted it loud and non-solo and wide-screen and phat yo. A full mantle piece of at least 14 random things/nik naks/objects/ and artificialfruit. Absolutely. Moreover, embarrassingly this is the God prince in all its splashed front page newspaper theme party pics – the nativity in the colonial world. Embarrassing quite. And as so the father in the yarn about the prodigal son: the father did not offer a couple of specs of cooked cow on a big plate with a dripped swirl of mint sauce, some sprinkled thyme, and an artfully placed flower to the hungry returning runoff-spring....... but rather the father rather killed the whole heifer hooves 'n all and creamed the kidneys for dessert after....... so God likes anything but minimal.
And as far as first birthdays, or rather as zionist zeroist birthday party's go, God certainly hooked up the coloured light bulbs, got ample crates ( to sit on for the brethren readership) and tuned the guitars for the sing a long in the garage all night long.
And so.... what do my hairy butt and minimalism have in common. Nothing. My butt is plentatious with follicles. What does Christmas have in common with minimalism? Nothing. But there is rich significance in the CHOIR. It is a primal Rolling Thunder Revue. It is Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young and the Holy Ghost and anybody else. Ben Lummis is not a choir. A choir in green vernacular is angelic sandal wearing, bee keeping pottery wheel community ....even before coromandel was a peninsula. It is the angelhood of angels in the ozone. Indeed my friends, the incarnation is not aloof nor elitist and depending on your liberation tendencies, is perhaps even biased against those considered elitist and aloof and untouchable. The incarnational celebration likewise, must be as messy and imposing, and just as crass and unthinkable: emmanuel - god among us. Put that in your herbal tea and drink it.
I am a card carrying anti minimalist in the new millennium. My cd's are visible, my tv is 3 dimensional, i have too many books and they look like varsity students in some kind of book case orientation week. I have a dog, a cat and 3 fish (at last count). I have cords that hang out from the wall and warp around the room. The remotes are free spirits. I have cupboards with handles. My fridge is not a hidden fridge - it is happy with who it is. I had a christmas tree that shed needles on the carpet till it was shod. Sometimes i leave my shoes on the floor by the door. I have no knowledge of recessed lighting. I own, use and store vinyl records within the confines of our lounge. My kids can find their toothbrushes without a map. I have grass and mow it. My car sometimes roughs it out in the cold. As do the 5 bikes. Sometimes it takes me 5 minutes to find a phillips screwdriver. Sometimes the vinyl exactly replicates the compact disc. My son keeps his drum kit in the lounge. My lightbulbs hang rudely from the roof. Sometimes newspapers are seen in a plethora of residencies. Our second phone is a garfield phone that clashes with the karen walker resene range and is within a 4 metre radius of the other
phone. I keep stuff in cases just in case. I hoard like a prostitute on the corner of Edinburgh and Karangahape rd. Letters sometimes hang out and chill and don't care.
I am not a minimalist. And the last time i watched my son's kindy nativity play there were at least THREE wisemen, and they EACH had a camel. And the manger, with all due respect, had one too many donkeys and stray rabbits for any self respecting pregnant minimalist. And the choir thing i think I've already mentioned. Case closed. God is on my side.
Hope you had a spectacular christmas. And in the words of a quantum theorist – go forth and multiply! I intend to cobbers.
Ka pai and kia ora, live large these 365 days - from Dave White on behalf of Radio Newstead
posted by Honest Dave at 1:17 pm
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